You Don't Have To Walk Alone
by Travithian Axile
Summary: PreMeteor. What if the friendship between Sephiroth and Zack was not what it seemed? What does a man do when his personal life threatens to interfere with his job? NOT YAOI. Chap12: In which insinuations and intrigues abound, and Zack gets a little space.
1. Chapter 1: The First Move

Disclaimer: I don't own FFVII, or Zack, or Sephiroth, or anything. I'm just borrowing the ideas from Square. Oh, and Alice in Wonderland isn't mine either.

Summary: Pre-Meteor. What if the friendship between Sephiroth and Zack was not what it seemed? What does a man do when his personal life threatens to interfere with his job?

A Word From the Author: An idea that suddenly occurred to me, and I just had to write it out in a story. Hope you like it. I think I'm crazy for starting a new story when I still have two more in the works (albeit one that is nearly finished). But I couldn't resist.

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**FINAL FANTASY VII:**

**YOU DON'T HAVE TO WALK ALONE **

**CHAPTER ONE:**

**THE FIRST MOVE**

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"Donovan?"

"Sir?" the dark-haired man looked up, a startled look materializing on his face. Despite the dreary weather, he was outdoors, clad only in worn blue trousers, an enormous sword gleaming in his hands as he swung it expertly through several maneuvers. His spiky hair stood up in clumps around his face, and his breathing was labored, but he was otherwise quite collected as he slid the sword back into its sheath and moved to join the Turk under the shelter.

"The President has been asking for you." Tseng's voice and face were, as ever, evenly emotionless. Donovan, toweling his hair dry with his shirt, wondered with the man ever smiled. Probably not. Olive eyes surveying the SOLDIER with a hint of disapproval, the Turk added dispassionately, "I have been ordered to escort you to Headquarters and get you clearance."

**_Gee, I'm so excited too. _**"Why?"

Tseng crossed his arms, and Donovan was suddenly, uncomfortably made aware of his unkempt appearance while the Turk was immaculate in his coat and tie. Hard to believe what he truly was… "Do you have a problem with the President's wishes, Donovan?" the Turk said blandly.

"I can't go the way I look," Donovan began awkwardly, gesturing at his mud-splattered boots and pants.

The Turk just stared. Donovan sighed, and raking his fingers through his hair in a vain attempt to get it to obey the laws of gravity for once (but actually making it worse-his hair now resembled a deranged angry cat rather than just an angry cat), he followed the Turk to the sleek black limo waiting at the entrance to the compound.

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Zack Donovan had been born in Gongaga, and since then he had known what he wanted to be. It wasn't too obvious at first; after all, all boys play at battle when young, and he whacked his fellows with sticks and yelled horrible war cries with his friends. But as they grew up, and began drifting off to the business of living their lives. Not him. He bought a sword, practiced with it, until his poor, long-suffering parents despaired of him. Begged him to get a job, get settled down, but he wouldn't let go of his dreams. Thus, when he was eighteen, he bid goodbye to his parents, and set off for Midgar.

And now, two years later, he was comfortably secure in his position as SOLDIER, second class. It was cushy and he got to meet plenty of girls. He didn't even dare dream of making first class; that was where all the truly elite, and truth be told, and spoilt kids with filthy rich fathers willing to make large donations to Shinra went. Hey, nothing was perfect, least of all Shinra.

It had been a reasonable life; when he'd come to the army, the war with Wutai was already closing to an end, due largely to the efforts of one General Sephiroth. Zack secretly thought that he was the coldest bastard he'd ever laid eyes on, war efforts or not. He was glad that it was the first-class SOLDIERs who got stuck with the General, and along with everyone else, did his best to steer clear of Sephiroth, especially when he was in one of his moods. The story was still whispered in the bunkers about Lieutenant Cole's untimely end when he had inadvertently pissed off the white-haired man.

He had no idea what the President wanted with him—he, a lowly SOLDIER in the army, second-class or not. Zack frantically ran through his mind anything he might have done to anger his boss. Perhaps it had been the time in the bar involving several girls, a lot of drinks and their angry boyfriends, but he hadn't done anything permanent to them, surely…? Or maybe a week ago when he had spiked Gregory's drink (a truly vile specimen of the male species, that—Gregory, not the drink), resulting in Gregory running around clad only in boxers in the women's camp singing, "You gotta gimme some' by Loveless? Though why would the President care if some trooper gallivanted around in his underwear was beyond Zack.

"We're here." Tseng's smooth voice slid into his consciousness, regaining his attention. Zack snapped back to reality and saw that the car had parked itself directly outside the HQ, its lights creating a burnished halo around the towering building through the tinted glass. Zack offered a weak smile in response to the ever-so-slight look of condescension in Tseng's eyes and clambered out, leaving some muddy stains on the Turk's plush leather seats. Shivering from the air-con, Zack couldn't resist a startled yelp as Tseng grabbed his shoulder and marched him, not to the front doors, but to a flight of stairs placed discreetly at the left. Zack got the impression that Tseng wanted this quiet.

About ten minutes later, ascending every step was like climbing a mountain. The muscles in Zack's legs groaned in protest as he jogged up what seemed to be a never-ending nightmare. He glanced enviously at the slight form of the Turk beside him, barely winded at all despite his slender build. Tseng returned his glance with a flat, unreadable look and at last reached out a hand, brushing his fingers against Zack's arm. The dark-haired man stopped as Tseng opened the door and pointed Zack through it. The door opened into a wide, spacious room, bedecked with potted plants in the corners. It was also empty. Without further ado, Tseng led him into the lift and pushed a keycard into an awaiting slot. He spoke something quietly and the lift shot up like a bullet.

There was a dead silence. Normally Zack would have filled it with inane chatter, but the, as everybody was well aware of, you don't make small talk with a Turk. Anything you said might be used against you sometime or other, no matter how innocent. Zack endured the tension as best as he could, nervously raking his fingers through his hair and staring over the Turk's shoulder so he wouldn't have to meet his eyes. He was glad when the lift dinged and the doors slid open. "Make yourself presentable," Tseng hissed into his ear as he brushed past.

Zack stared at Tseng's blue-clad back and aimed a few ill-intentioned thoughts towards him. He looked around, to be confronted with another large room, filled with several plush sofas, computer terminals and paintings probably worth more than Zack's yearly salary. The carpet was soft, springy and a delicate shade of tan; Zack winced as he left several unbecoming smears of darker brown behind. Settling gingerly on the edge of a sofa, he flipped idly through a mag or two while Tseng, in a far corner, whispered tersely into his cellphone. At last, the Turk snapped the cell shut and strode towards Zack. "The President will see you now, Donovan," he said monotonously.

"Um, okay." Zack replaced the magazine on the coffee table and stood up. Tseng barred his way. "The sword," he said simply, lifting an eyebrow.

"Huh?" Zack asked, bemused.

"No weapons anywhere the President's vicinity, and that includes _you, _Donovan," the Turk returned. "It will be well taken care of during the length of the meeting."

"Trust is a virtue, you know," Zack muttered before he could stop himself as he slid the Buster Sword over. He could have kicked himself. Who the hell lectured the Turks on virtue? It was like preaching Christianity to the Devil. Tseng remained expressionless. "The Turks do not make the rules, Donovan." He grasped the Buster Sword and held it out behind him. Almost instantly, an attendant materialized seemingly out of nowhere and took it before hurrying off again, nearly bent double with the weight.

Tseng and Zack boarded the lift again. It rose only one more storey before it admitted the two of them into the President's office. Zack suddenly felt nervous. He'd never been this close to his President before…only far away, over the heads of a million people, in a high balcony, waving from a limousine… He swallowed a bit. In less than a minute he would be face-to-face with the most powerful man in the world…and he had no idea for what darned reason. He just hoped it wasn't a bad one.

Zack walked in front, Tseng trailing a few steps behind, but Zack could feel the man's dark eyes probing watchfully into his back. A huge desk of steel dominated the end of the enormous room, behind which a wall-length window offered a view of Midgar which would have been breathtaking were it not for the fact that there was little in Midgar which was beautiful. Much that was practical, maybe, since beauty did not fill Shinra's coffers. Most plants sickened and died within a short period of time due to the perpetual smog that clogged the air. Flowers only grew in one place in Shinra's city.

The President sat at his desk in a high-backed swivel chair; a man of middling years and average height, his hair like a flaming orange beacon upon his head. Once powerfully built, with piercing blue eyes and an intimidating aura, Shinra had single-handedly, almost overnight, built an empire that had prospered and expanded since the day of its founding. Now he had the look of a man gone to seed, with a bulging belly that strained the seams of his presidential suit, and his eyes had become rheumy from too much tobacco and drink. He reminded Zack of nothing more than a rather smug-looking toad squeezed into overtight clothes, but he maintained his silence on his views on his President's appearance. He _really _didn't want to lose his head. After all, Tseng wasn't too happy with him already…

To his surprise, Hojo was standing at the President's side, looking insufferably pleased about something. As usual, his hair looked like it hadn't been washed since the day he was born—long, and lank and greasy, it dangled in and around Hojo's angular face, as though someone had dumped a bowl of oily noodles around his head. His lab coat looked as though it _could _have been white a while ago—it was hard to tell beneath the layers of dubious substances staining it. Compared to the scientist, who could have won the award for 'Slimiest Git in the World', Zack felt brushed, scrubbed, and sparkling clean. Zack detested him heartily and wondered how the President could stand having him around. Hojo had certainly done his best to add to the ranks of denizens of nut houses around the globe.

"Leave us, Tseng," Shinra said, waving a plump hand at the Turk, as though he was dismissing a dog, albeit a dog with very long and dangerous teeth. The Turk saluted, spun on his heel, and departed via the lift, leaving Zack alone with Shinra and his least favorite person in the whole world. He was starting to get a _very _bad feeling about this.

The President smoothed a few documents lying in a folder in front of him and steepled his fingers. "How well do you know your General, soldier?"

Zack fidgeted, unable to hide his surprise at the odd question, which, frankly, had come straight out of left field. "Not very well, I'm sorry, uh…Mr. President." Glancing at the papers on Shinra's desk, he was able to identify the photo clipped to the first sheet as Sephiroth's—the long, white hair and green eyes were unmistakable. "If I may ask…"

"Yes, m'boy?"

"What's going on around here?" Zack asked rather bluntly. "What am I _doing _here?" That's so secret even Tseng isn't privy to it? He added to himself silently.

"Oh, you'll find out." Hojo spoke for the first time, obsidian eyes squinting at Zack unpleasantly. Any unfortunate recipient of Hojo's look subsequently felt as though they were being dissected and examined underneath a microscope. Zack was no exception. He squirmed uncomfortably and pretended to be very interested in Shinra's ashtray (inlaid with mother-of-pearl and engraved with the Shin-Ra logo).

"We've received some very positive reports about you, Donovan," the President continued as though Hojo hadn't said anything. "We believe that you possess the qualities needed for you to complete a job I had in mind." The President smiled comfortably, as though expecting Zack to feel complimented. The dark-haired SOLDIER just felt confused, and increasingly impatient. What 'qualities' did he have that any other SOLDIER didn't? "I doubt that, Mr. President." Why didn't Shinra just come to the point, for the Planet's sake?

"It's not just military skills we're discussing here, Donovan," the President elaborated, "though you certainly have those in abundance. No, from your file, you're charismatic, social, and of course it doesn't hurt that you're a good soldier. All these will certainly help in the long run…"

"For what, sir?" Zack asked, agitated. It was starting to smell very fishy to him. And Hojo had that look in his eye that usually signaled nothing good. He shifted again and willed his fingers to stop fidgeting.

The President leaned forward slightly, almost unconsciously, Zack noted, as though to draw the SOLDIER deeper into his confidence. The buttons of his waistcoat trembled precariously as his chest swelled, preparing to send a blast of air to his lungs to fuel whatever he was going to divulge. Zack just _wished _that Shinra would hurry up so that he could return to his barracks and pretend none of this had ever happened.

"We want to hire you to do something for us…something that will pay very well." Shinra dropped another folder on top of Sephiroth's; it fell open and Zack stared back into his own face on the first page, directly below the green-eyed General's. Hojo was grinning sinisterly now, a twisted parody of the Cheshire Cat's from _Alice In Wonderland, _and the smirk only widened further when the President concluded, "We would like you to befriend General Sephiroth, and in return, we'll make you SOLDIER First-Class.

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Author's Ending Note: Please review. I'll sincerely like your opinion on what seems to me a rather unorthodox premise. Is it too unbelievable, weird, anything? Flames will not be welcomed if they don't tell me anything useful (NOTE: Telling me what a lousy writer I am/ what a lousy story this is does NOT count as useful information.) Next chapter will be longer, I promise.

NEXT: CHAPTER TWO, **A CURE FOR LONELINESS**

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	2. Chapter 2: A Cure For Loneliness

Disclaimer: I don't own FFVII, or Zack, or Sephiroth, or anything. I'm just borrowing the ideas from Square. Oh, and Alice in Wonderland isn't mine either.

Summary: Pre-Meteor. What if the friendship between Sephiroth and Zack was not what it seemed? What does a man do when his personal life threatens to interfere with his job?

Thanks to all reviewers:

Jehaldreen: Well, you'll just have to read to find out, right?

BlackMagicAngel: You got it! (preens) You really raise my confidence with that remark about the writing skills, even though I don't really think so…

Crystal Cat-Chan: I hope it'll be good too, I only have a vague idea where it's going so far…

lilalou: Yeah, sure! I was positive about the original, but not about the interesting, glad you've confirmed that.

Ardwynna Morrigu: Getting your positive input was really invigorating, and as for myself, I can't wait for _your _update. You know, the one where Zack tortures the poor General mercilessly without even knowing it. Poor Seph (sniggers)

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**FINAL FANTASY VII:**

**YOU DON'T HAVE TO WALK ALONE **

**CHAPTER TWO:**

**A CURE FOR LONELINESS**

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As the President's words fell from his lips, Zack listened with a kind of detached amazement, as though he was outside his body, watching, an observer rather than a participant. There was surprise, at the ludicrous offer—_I'd rather invite the Midgar Zolom to a tea party sooner than befriend that total son of a _bitch_—_there was anger—_You can't control your pet general and now you're asking _me _to help you solve your problem?—_and, perhaps most of all, there was glee, he was ashamed to say, to hear what had been his dream for a long time, offered to him on a silver platter.

Dangling _right there _in front of him, the proverbial donkey and carrot…

Zack got the better of his emotions. Damn it, bastard or not, the General didn't deserve this. No one did. Struggling to keep his voice level, he said evenly, and rather coldly, "_Spying, _you mean."

"Whatever you'd like to call it," Shinra shrugged noncommittally. "I don't see why you care. You professed yourself that you didn't really know him…"

"That doesn't mean I don't respect him as a human being, Mr. President," Zack gritted through clenched teeth. "It'd be a pretty low thing to pretend friendship for personal gain. With all due respect, I think there's nothing more to be said."

"Assuming, Hojo sniggered from the side, "that he was a human in the first place."

Zack threw the oily scientist a disgusted glance. "Something I would say you knew zilch about, in my opinion, despite the fact that you're a sad excuse for a person."

Hojo just smirked and maintained his silence. Zack was almost disappointed; he'd have loved an excuse to slug Hojo to next Tuesday, but then again, he might never be able to wash clean the stench of grease from his skin. He turned back to his employer. "I apologize for being unfit for the job. If I may go now…" His voice trailed off into silence as he noticed that the President was smiling. It was not a nice smile. It was the smile of a cat just before it pounced onto a mouse. It was the smile of a snake just before it swallowed its victim whole. It was…okay. I'm sure you get the point.

"You misunderstand me, Donovan." The President stood now. Though shorter than the SOLDIER by almost a head, the President nonetheless exuded the subtle aura of power that had won him his office in the first place. "I never said that you had a choice." Hojo giggled beside him, and Zack's fists clenched with the effort to restrain himself from leaping at the little scientist and strangling him. "There is a squad of expert marksmen outside this building," Shinra continued, his voice soft and lethal. "At my word, they will all fire the moment you step out. I could have you executed for treason and no one will question me." The man's blue eyes sought Zack's intently. "Do you _understand _now, Donovan?"

"Yes." It was hard to keep his anger bottled up, and some of it came through in his voice, and his words." Zack lifted his chin and met his President's eyes squarely. "I understand enough that you're a bastard, but then, no one's perfect." Zack's eyes went to the black-haired scientist. "Especially _you._"

Shinra shrugged and smiled. He didn't look unduly bothered "True. Dismissed."

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"Take care of yourself," Tseng said, rather unexpectedly, as Zack got out of the car ten minutes later. The dark-haired SOLDIER paused and glanced back as the Turk poked his head out, keeping the limo idling at the curb. "You are not the first to take up this job, nor will you be the last, if you fail."

Zack felt a chill. "You mean…"

"Remember Lieutenant Cole. That's all I'm saying." Tseng replaced his sunglasses and shut the door firmly in Zack's face. The SOLDIER leaped back to avoid a faceful of dust as the car roared down the road, leaving Zack to consider the piece of advice the Turk had so unexpectedly given him. More disturbed than he cared to admit, Zack slowly made his way back to his barracks. He had a _lot _to think about.

However, rest was to be denied him for the time being, as he soon realized. After showing his pass to the guard, he had scarcely set foot within the dormitory he shared with two other guys when a voice hailed him. Already in a bad mood, he snapped, "Please! Can't a guy get some peace around here?"

"Hello to you, Donovan," his commander of his company replied dryly. Squad Leader John Cothron was an almost abnormally tall man in his mid-forties, with sandy hair and pale, intense eyes. A diligent man who lived his life by rules, he was as unlike Zack as it was possible to be. Zack found him hard and unyielding, but had to admit that he had the ability to bring out potential in people, and generally got along well with him, and vice versa. However, at the moment Cothron was looking quite obviously unhappy, his lips bowed in a frown. He towered over Zack, who visibly winced. "Sorry, sir. Rough day," he added in explanation.

Cothron's eyebrows lifted briefly. "It's alright_…sir,_" he said flatly. Zack glanced up at him in astonishment. "Was that a joke, Commander?" he asked cautiously. Cothron _never _joked, unless it was to raise morale.

"You never told me you'd applied—_again_," Cothron said a trifle coldly. "Weren't you turned down every time?"

"You mean…SOLDIER, first class?" Zack asked blankly. "Yes, that's true. I kind of gave up hope after a while. No matter how good I was, there was always going to be someone more 'qualified' than me…" He gave Cothron a clueless look.

"You now outrank me, Donovan." Cothron said, his expression now a blank mask. "_Congratulations _on your new promotion to first class, and by the way, you no longer sleep here. Here's your key." With a deft hand, Zack caught the keycard Cothron tossed to him and closed his fingers over the cold metal. "Sir—" he said softly.

"Take your things, and get out." Cothron pushed past Zack, and out of the door, but not before Zack had seen the bitter fire in the man's eyes. For a man who had served faithfully in the army half his life, to be upped by a youngster with barely two years of service…that had to rankle. And the sad thing was, Zack thought, he _did _deserve to be in first class. After all the cadets he had trained, some of which had been promoted ahead of him, and now to be upstaged by someone he counted as a friend—

How could he explain? Glancing at the curious, inquiring eyes of his bunkmates, Zack did not feel inclined to stick around any longer. With a few mumbled excuses, he shoveled his meager belongings in his bag, tossed his uniform over his shoulder and headed off to the other end of the compound.

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Well. He _could _get used to this.

Apparently, being SOLDIER first class had its perks. Upon opening the door of his room in the fancy hostel, Zack was greeted by a single double-bed—nothing to rave about, unless one had been sleeping with two other guys for half a year, and before that, crammed into one small dorm with five other cadets, more than half of whom snored, or smelled, or possessed any other not so admirable qualities (like a particularly prissy one that kept sobbing for 'Mommy' in his sleep) that prevented him from sleeping easily and quickly. Of course he'd managed to get used to these various quirks otherwise he'd never have gotten a decent kip, but it was kinda nice to be able to have a room to himself.

Almost immediately, however, he was reminded of the circumstances that had given him this position, and subsequently deflated. Tossing his bag onto the small table, he sat down on the bed, going over Shinra's conversation in his mind. Just where had he gone wrong? Nah…it was all that fat slob's fault. His and that of the least appealing man, visually and character wise, on the face of the sodding Planet.

"Great. I've got to be all buddy-buddy with the General, who wouldn't recognize a joke if it danced naked with a sign screaming, "I'M A JOKE!" in front of him. Just my luck," he muttered aloud to the empty room. He briefly contemplated dying his hair blond, changing his name, and running away, but the arm of Shinra was long, and he had no doubt that they would find him. Besides, have you ever tried to disguise spiky hair? Answer: You SHOULDN'T, in the face of unforeseeable consequences.

He sighed. At any other time he would have been elated. But he hadn't earned the post by his own merit—rather, he had been in the right place, at the right time, and thus caught the President's attention. Fate was a bloody bitch. Absently he began to unlace his boots and hurled them in the general direction of the door when he was done. Both landed neatly on the mat. Catching a whiff of his own body odor, Zack made a face, and let the business of personal hygiene chase all other unpleasant thoughts from his mind at the moment.

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Zack was just toweling his hair dry vigorously when there was a knock at his door. Zack barely had time to dive for his shirt and pull it on before the door slid open of its own accord to admit a slender, tallish man, who had to bend a little to get through the door. With his tanned complexion, almond eyes (light gray, with a soft greenish glow) and dark hair he was clearly a Wutainese. Since Wutai had been soundly beaten by Shinra two years back, Zack couldn't help but raise an eyebrow.

"I am Akira Karling, SOLDIER, first class, and administrator of this building." the man introduced himself, plunking on top of Zack's bed without an invitation. "You must be the new guy the General told me about…he's a little too busy too tend to you just now, but trust me, you'll get your just desserts soon enough." He grinned at the dumbfounded Zack a little scarily. Though Wutainese in appearance, he spoke without a trace of an accent, showing that he was Midgar born and bred, and completely unconcerned about the ancient feud his people had with the government with which he had allied himself.

"Thanks for the warning…but shouldn't you warn people first before you come in?" Zack blurted out, pushing rebellious strands of hair from his face.

"I did knock," Akira pointed out, looking hurt.

"Well, knock a little longer."

"I'll remember that. Look, about tomorrow. Remember that no matter what abuse you get, the General's just doing his job, it's nothing personal. He does that to every newbie that passes into his hands."

"You make it sound like something so terrible."

"Because it is. It basically consists of him beating the crap out of some poor sod, since half the guys in first class conveniently happen to have connections high places. It's not war time, so I shouldn't complain, but…" The dark-haired Wutainese shrugged, giving Zack the impression that he wasn't too happy with the way things were run. Zack sympathized very much with him on that point.

**_Hey, General, I've got a better idea. Let's be friends instead! Yes, isn't that _such _an exciting idea? Ranks up right there with the cute bunnies and fluffy pink hearts, doesn't it? We'll have 'Best Friends 4EVA' tattooed into our forearms, to commemorate the most impossible friendship of all time— _**

"Hey, are you alright?" Akira suddenly said worriedly, waving a hand in front of Zack's eyes. The SOLDIER jumped and flushed guiltily. 'You zoned out there for a minute…"

"Oh, I was just worried that my friends in second class are going to think that I bought my way in here," Zack lied glibly, though a pang in his heart reminded him that it wasn't that much of a lie after all. "I applied and got turned down enough times for my rejection slips to fill a small swimming pool. I know Cothron already thinks so…"

"Aw, forget about those morons." Akira waved his hand dismissively, but when he saw that Zack was truly upset, he lowered his head and smiled sympathetically. "Look at it this way, if they're really friends of yours, they won't even think of such a possibility. Besides, there're plenty of nice guys in first class for you to mingle with—I'm one of them, of course—"

"Of course."

"And then you're already acquainted with some of our less savory denizens, or so I hear," Akira's eyes filled with mischief. "I still recall a certain SOLDIER first class whose hair turned blue and wouldn't wash off, and streaked in the female camp after someone spiked his punch—"

Zack endeavored to look innocently interested.

"The 'innocently interested' look doesn't work on me, by the way," Akira added sternly, pointing a finger at Zack. "I am immune to it."

"What does that have to do with me?" Zack protested rather unconvincingly.

"Right," Akira snorted. "Oh, Ifrit's flaming hells!" he added, glancing at his watch. "It's sodding late and I haven't started on the duty roster—I'm leader of my own little band, you see…oh, the General will explain everything to you tomorrow. Goodnight, Zack."

"Night," Zack said, smiling as he watched his new friend—as he supposed Akira was—spring for the exit as though a hundred hounds were at his heels. Just before the door hissed closed, Akira held it open with one hand and said, "I really like you, Zack, and I'm sorry we didn't meet sooner. I think we'll get along famously."

"Why do I get the same feeling?" Zack returned. After Akira had left, he finished drying his hair, wrote a letter to his girlfriend before deciding to turn in for the night, aware of the rest he would need to face tomorrow morning. He was sure it couldn't be as bad as Akira had described. After all, no one had died yet, he thought optimistically, until he recalled the unfortunate lieutenant, whom Tseng had implied heavily had been carrying out the same mission as him. He grimaced at the unpleasant reminder, turned onto his side, and fell into an immediate, dreamless sleep for the rest of the night.

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Author's Ending Note: 1/11/05: Don't worry, Sephiroth comes in next chapter, and Zack makes his first move. This chapter is mostly filler stuff until I get to the meaty part, and I was kind of stumped as to what to write. I'm afraid the quality of this chapter is a little inferior as compared with the previous one, and I would gladly accept advice from you kind readers. Anyway, the 'zams are over, leaving me with more free time (though it'll be a heavy next year) so 3 should be uploaded within two weeks. If not, flame me.

Until the next time,

T. Axile.

COMING SOON: CHAPTER THREE, **LET ME WALK WITH YOU**

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	3. Chapter 3: Let Me Walk With You

Disclaimer: I don't own FFVII, or Zack, or Sephiroth, or anything. I'm just borrowing the ideas from Square. Oh, and Alice in Wonderland isn't mine either.

Summary: Pre-Meteor. What if the friendship between Sephiroth and Zack was not what it seemed? What does a man do when his personal life threatens to interfere with his job?

A Word From the Author: Heh, only started typing on Monday, I'll try to finish within the week. The reason for the tardiness was that I had to attend a workshop that stretched for twelve hours, so I had no time to write, especially with my parents hovering around. Anyway,

Thanks to all reviewers:

**Ardwynna Morrigu:** You know, I was looking through Paint The Town again after seeing your review, and I realized that was where I'd gotten the name Donovan. When I was writing this, it just kind of popped up in my subconscious, and it sounded right, so I used it. Is that considered plagiarizing, I wonder?

As for Seph, yeah, he'll be a real introvert in my story, and I think I'll have loads of fun having Zack force him open. It's going to be more serious story than I had initially envisioned through.

**Freddie2789: **If only we writers could write on command, I'd post my chapters up a lot more quickly…sigh.

**Erufue: **I hope that this chapter will be worth every bit of your anticipation.

**lilalou: **Poor Zack indeed :D He's going to have to suffer much, especially in this chapter. (maniacal author laughter)

**Crystal Cat-Chan: **I'm rather nervous about having to write this chapter though, which was why last chapter I ended where I did. I was just trying to get the feel of the story before I attempted a difficult one like this.

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**FINAL FANTASY VII:**

**YOU DON'T HAVE TO WALK ALONE **

**CHAPTER THREE:**

**LET ME WALK WITH YOU**

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It was still dark save for a strip of pink and gold that outlined the horizon when Zack left his quarters, the Buster Sword slung over one shoulder with unconscious ease, clad in the uniform he'd found outside his door in a box, along with the armor he usually donned whenever on duty. Zack always liked this time of day, when he could practice without the incessant din of the city and the barked commands of the commanders in the compound tugging at his eardrums. Now, it was peacefully quiet, and Zack relished it.

The dark-haired SOLDIER padded along the hallway, his heavy boots muffled by the carpeting. The opposite wall was lined with tinted glass that nevertheless offered a view of Midgar bathed in the rays of the awakening sun. With the usually lifeless gray metal streaked with deep red, Midgar might have looked visually appealing. Until the sun fully rose, and illuminated the stark, cold gray of the city that reflected the hearts of its people, and the baked wasteland around it where nothing would grow, or every would.

Zack turned away and made his way down to the training ground, deserted save for a few civilian personnel clearing the grounds, and a few guardsmen patrolling around. They saluted to him when they spotted his uniform, and he nodded back. He found a corner to himself, and began with a few easy maneuvers to warm up. The crisp morning air invigorated him and he soon found himself going through several complicated moves and slashes. He swung hard at an imaginary foe, blocked, and lashed out, and when in his mind's eye he saw his enemy fall, he finished off with his usual flourish.

The sun was, by now, hanging a distance from the horizon and cadets had began to straggle from the warmth of their bunks to start the day's training, egged on by the shouts of the instructors. At this time of day Zack would usually be accompanying Cothron and his group on his morning run, but then, he wasn't part of second class any longer. To his relief, he spotted Akira among the small cluster of SOLDIERs emerging from the hostel, and raced over.

"Man, you're one early riser," the Wutaian said upon seeing Zack. "I wanted to tell you this morning, but your room was already empty."

"Sorry, my habit," Zack replied. "Midgar doesn't stink as bad in the dawn."

Akira smirked. "True. Anyway, us first class SOLDIERs don't train with the riff-raff. There's a rather nice gym and training room in the ShinRa building specially for our use."

Zack raised an eyebrow. Apparently the gulf between first class and second was larger than he had initially thought. Though Akira seemed nice, there was an almost subconscious arrogance in his voice whenever he brought up his rank. From his early days at the academy, Zack had also noticed that the first-class SOLDIERs tended to stick together, shunning the lower-ranking personnel. A caste system existed in the ShinRa army, no matter what Shinra preached about equality and sharing in his speeches, and Zack did not think he liked it. Nevertheless, he remained silent on the topic. No use alienating the one friend he had made so far with a lecture.

The SOLDIERs swarmed into Headquarters, to be greeted by shy waves and flirtatious smiles from the secretaries on their way to work. Zack couldn't help but brighten considerably. Most of his group managed to acquire a female companion on their way to the elevator. A slim brunette hung off Akira's arm, listening to his every word with adoring eyes. "Your girl?" Zack teased as they got off at the 59th floor.

The Wutaian smacked him on the back of his head but admitted that she was. "We've been going steady for a year now," he revealed. "We'll be getting married next year." He gave Zack a boyish grin. "What about you? This is a great place to pick up a girl."

"Nuh-uh. There's somebody else already," Zack said, shaking his head. He'd chatted up a redhead, and had even responded to her coy smiles and sideways glances, but had resisted all attempts to fix up a date with her. Ever since he'd been lucky enough to find Aeris, there would be no other in his life as long as she was around.

For the first time, Zack got a good luck at his surroundings. The gym was large, and equipped with all the latest stuff on the market. The walls were painted a light cream, and the whole place had an air of cheery welcome. The wooden floor was stained reddish-brown and provided a good grip. Several vending machines filled with branded sports drinks lined the walls. The room was breezy without being cold. Upon seeing Zack's spaced out look, Akira chuckled. "We're first class, man. Shinra's finest." The man lowered his voice ominously. "Second only to the General, of course."

"Training room is next door," Akira went on, jabbing a finger at a pair of sliding glass doors at the far end. "We either work out or spar among ourselves, and if the General comes, which isn't too often, we'll split into squads of three or four, pre-arranged according to skill. I'm the leader of mine. He just stalks around and evaluates us, thrashes the occasional smart aleck, and then leaves. I heard that he has got his own personal training room somewhere around." He gave Zack a sympathetic look. "He also usually comes when there's a newbie for him to examine."

"My luck," Zack grimaced.

"Let's get started, then," Akira said, walking over to a treadmill. As he jogged a little on the spot, he eyed Zack critically. "Looks like you already got some in, though." His attention wandered away from Zack as he got onto the machine and started pumping away.

Zack continued where he had left off that morning, pushing the Buster Sword forward in a series of thrusts. It was a huge, unwieldy weapon, but Zack had been training since he was a youth with it and knew it like he would his own arm. The Mako in his veins gave him the additional strength he needed to lift it as though it weighed nothing more than a rifle. After a while, he got the feeling that someone was watching him, and turning, mentally groaned as he gazed into the glowing brown eyes of a certain rat-faced idiot known as Kent Gregory, flanked with his ever-present friends and looking steaming mad.

As soon as Gregory realized that he had Zack's attention, he strutted over, a smirk pasted over his face. Okay, so he wasn't that ugly. Zack was the first to admit that he was biased. There were a lot of things about the bugger that set him off. Like the fact that his family was filthy rich and he didn't hesitate to flaunt his wealth. Like the fact that Zack could have wiped the floor with him in a one-to-one battle despite his boasting. Like an occasion when Zack caught the bastard trying to kiss Aeris. Zack had gotten into a lot of trouble over that beating, but it had been worth it when Gregory had left the flower girl alone thereafter.

"I'd like to know, Donovan," Gregory said in his soft, sneering voice, "how much you'd had to sell to buy your way in here." One of his cronies sniggered, and Zack's knuckles on the Buster Sword turned white. "Well," he snapped, temple flaring, "did it ever occur to you that perhaps I got this far out of pure skill? Says a lot about yourself, doesn't it? Not everyone's as morally bankrupt as you, Gregory."

The other man sneered, unsheathing his weapon, a long sword that was nowhere near half the width of Zack's Buster Sword. "Let's see, shall we?" His friends, three in number, lounged at the sides, their hands at their respective weapons, with a dangerous glint in their eyes that Zack distrusted. A surge of adrenaline ran through his veins as he turned to give Gregory the thrashing he so deserved.

"I've tried to tell you time and time again," Zack drawled, dodging Gregory's first move, a surprisingly powerful though slightly miscalculated stroke. "that you're a bastard. But you don't seem to get it." As Gregory recovered, Zack rammed the hilt of the Buster Sword into his midsection, knocking the breath out of him. There was a tremendous WHOOSH and Gregory nearly doubled over. However, the SOLDIER managed to avoid Zack's next assault by dropping and rolling across the floor. He was up in a flash, the nausea on his face gradually dissipating as his healing powers took over.

"Hey," someone called from the door of the training room a little nervously, "I think you should, uh—"

"Shut the hell up and go rot," Gregory hissed out, looking at Zack with decidedly malicious intent. There was a brief commotion at the door, but Zack's attention was quickly drawn away as he charged at Zack, his sword slashing at the other man's chest. Zack slammed the Buster Sword against Gregory's blade, the sheer force of the swing knocking Gregory back a few steps. "People like you shouldn't play with sharp objects," the dark-haired SOLDIER pointedly informed his opponent. Beads of sweat dotted Gregory's face as he grunted with exertion, practically bent backward as Zack pressed harder and harder. With a sudden move, Zack kicked Gregory's feet out from under him. Already overbalanced, the man fell heavily onto his back and Zack held the Buster Sword to his throat, "Yield?" he asked almost sweetly.

Zack saw Gregory's eyes flip to the side, and his friends, catching the signal, rushed towards Zack, smirking. Zack shook his head in mock sorrow. "You truly _are _pathetic, Greg. You can't even fight without your bodyguards to back you up," he yelled, swinging the Buster Sword in a wide arc, and so dangerous was the glint in his eye that one of his attackers couldn't help but falter a little. Taking advantage of that moment of weakness, Zack drove him back with a succession of stabs that reduced the material of his uniform to ribbons, careful not to touch the skin, and thus breaking out of the deadly circle. A rush of wind from behind alerted Zack to an enemy presence, and he spun around and stepped back simultaneously to intercept Gregory's long sword.

"I'll make you pay," Gregory bit out, his eyes boring into Zack. "Scum like you don't deserve to be in here. You aren't even from Midgar, you're just a bloody commoner, you're just as bad as those slum folk—"

Zack saw red. His boot lashed out before he even thought about it, and then Gregory was on the floor whimpering, his hands covering an important portion of his anatomy, so to speak, Zack's boot being steel-shod and extremely tough. Then something hard hit Zack on the back of his head, and he cursed himself for being too distracted with his anger. Ready to defend himself, he was just able to halt the next blow, meant for his midsection, but then another landed on his already aching head. Almost unable to see through the blinding pain, he staggered.

"ENOUGH," a deep, angry voice said. It was an extremely familiar voice, one that made Zack fall over completely onto his hands and knees and Gregory and his minions go pale as corpses.

"S-sir," Gregory stammered, turning to face the tall, menacing form of the General and saluting with a shaking hand. Arms folded, eyes narrowed, his whole pose screaming, 'DANGER.' He looked mad, alright, and inwardly Zack gloated, despite the pain in his head. Ha! Not even the Worm couldn't wriggle his way out of this one this time.

That didn't stop him from trying, though. "It's isn't what it looks like, sir…"

"Oh?" Languid now, lips curved in a dangerous smile. "It looked a lot like four soldiers beating one man up…and that one man putting up quite a bit of a fight." Zack suddenly felt the pressure of the General's eyes on him and painstakingly moved his head upwards, trying not to set off any more mines in his head than necessary. The General's green eyes were fixed on him. He looked mad, or as mad as he ever did anyway, paler than usual and his eyes slits, but the anger was directed at someone else.

"We were just sparring, sir…" one of Gregory's goons began to babble incoherently. The General cut him off with a wave of his hand. "I think I've heard quite enough from the four of you." There was a hint of a threat in his voice, and the four offenders gulped with apprehension. Apparently done with them for the time being, Sephiroth regarded Zack, and gazing at the looming, intimidating figure in front of him, Zack once again despaired. _How am I ever going to reach through to him? He's all ice and snow!_

"Are you injured?" Sephiroth asked Zack, a question that the SOLDIER would have found concerned from anyone else save the General. The man's voice was blandly dispassionate, and he was giving Zack a once-over that made him feel as though he was nothing more than a piece of inanimate equipment under scrutiny. Is he fit for combat? Yes. Good. Can he be used? Will he slow me down? Will he be a liability? Definitely far from warm and fuzzy, his General was.

"No," Zack said, after giving himself a careful check. "I'll live."

The General nodded once. "The rest of you, there's nothing more to see here," he barked, and curious onlookers on the fringes of the scene hurriedly moved away, sensing that their General was in a dangerous mood. "You four—I'll expect a report on what happened, and I think a substantial pay dock will suffice as punishment for now." Relieved to be getting as far away from Sephiroth as possible, Gregory and his friends saluted hastily and nearly fell over each other trying to escape. When Zack and Sephiroth were left alone, the former eyeing the latter with trepidation, the General unsheathed the Masamune and gazed at Zack expectantly. When Zack failed to comply, the General glared and—was that an eye roll? The SOLDIER blinked.

"I don't have all day, soldier," he said impatiently, the Masamune held before him defensively. Realization sank into Zack's mind, and he stared at Sephiroth incredulously as he struggled to his feet. The ache in his head was still pounding ferociously and was slow to subside, much to his dismay.

"I don't think," he said slowly, "that I am in any condition to fight right now, sir."

"You're fine, aren't you?" the General said flatly, a bite of irritation in his tone. Zack bristled. "Not everyone's a super soldier like you are, sir. We're all human."

The General rocked back on his heels, and the look he gave Zack was an indecipherable one. The SOLDIER started as, for a moment, he registered surprise on Sephiroth's face. Clearly, the great General wasn't used to backtalk. Zack didn't care. He was in a position he didn't want, he was hurting, and too pissed off to be scared by his General.

"Nevertheless," Sephiroth said coolly, "this is an order from your General, soldier."

Zack sighed and picked up the Buster Sword. The few materia in its slots glittered in the fluorescent lights as he hefted the sword, all of them far from Mastered and none of them with restorative properties, since those kind were much rarer and more expensive than their offensive cousins. Which meant he couldn't cure himself.

The two men circled each other. While Sephiroth appeared relaxed, almost bored, Zack was taking the opportunity to examine the man he was supposed to befriend. He had never been in such close proximity with his General before; mostly, the closest he had come was seeing a huge photo of the man splashed over the recruitment posters and sometimes besides the President.

When he thought he saw an opening, Zack dove in and slashed low at the General's booted feet, but Sephiroth was gone when he did get there, dancing nimbly away. After that, Zack retreated into a mostly defensive position, and the two men spent the next five minutes or so testing each other. Zack was astonished by his General's strength. The deceptively thin blade of the Masamune was there always to hold Zack's bulkier weapon at bay, and didn't so much as quiver no matter how much Zack pounded. Zack had always relied on the sheer size of his weapon and his own strength to turn the tables in his favor, but all that was proving useless in this battle. Zack had yet to see any of the legendary moves the General was renown for, yet, bit by bit, he was already wearing down Zack's defenses simply by playing the waiting game, despite his earlier claim that he didn't have much time. Zack decided that he had to end this quickly before he got too tired to so much as stand.

"You rely too much on brute force," Sephiroth lectured as calmly as though he was watering petunias rather than standing in the middle of a sparring match. "Ever heard of speed and finesse, Donovan?" For a brief second, a smirk graced his pale lips as Zack simmered. Sephiroth gad barely moved more than a few steps throughout the entire fight, while Zack had been circling around searching for an opportunity to strike—and getting thwarted at every turn. Frustrated, he feinted to the left, and then cut high, to rest his blade across Sephiroth's throat. The General threw him back with his ridiculously long sword. Then, he moved so fast that Zack was only aware of his displacement when the edge of the Masamune kissed Zack's throat, Sephiroth's face only inches away, definitely smirking now.

"Too easy," he said, and let the Masamune drop away. His lip curled. "Clearly, after all these years, the quality of the soldiers ShinRa is sending me hasn't improved."

Zack struggled to hold back the words threatening to burst out of him. He was well aware that his bluntness was part of the reason he had been held back in second class while others went on to first; his refusal to close his eyes to the truth as so many had done. But his temper got the better of him. "You don't respect people enough," Zack said.

Sephiroth blinked, and gave him a look that Zack was pretty much used to by now, which screamed, "Are you crazy?" Zack continued, "I'm sure there's a lot of room for improvement, but I'm practiced hard, sir, and I won't stand for anybody suggesting otherwise."

"Maybe, if you stopped looking down on people, we'll respect ourselves enough to do better."

There was a long silence, during which Zack braced himself for the stab in his heart he was certain would come. The General would get away with it, while Zack would become just another failure in Shinra's book, one of the poor sods who'd failed in his assignment. Instead, he heard the sound of boots walking away. He looked up to be confronted with Sephiroth's retreating back. Surprised, he watched as the General opened the door. But he didn't step out. He partially shut it, and said, still facing the opposite direction, "Perhaps that is because…I haven't met anyone worthy of my respect yet…until now." The General turned, dipped his head in a slow nod, and left, leaving Zack wondering what the hell had just happened.

Whatever it was, his future was looking decidedly brighter now.

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Author's Ending Note: Whoa, I really spent a loooooonnnnnnnnnngggg time searching for the right words for Zack and Sephiroth to say in the end, and even so, I suspect that they're both a little OOC. Zack is already established to be more serious than my other fics have made him out to be, but have I made Seph too soft…? Argh…Please feedback and reassure me, or condemn me. I really need to know so I can start on the next chapter without worrying about the third.

Chapter Four will, btw, hopefully be up in a month. I've got other stories to update, _and _writer's block, which I **really **don't need. :(

T. Axile.

NEXT: CHAPTER FOUR, **THE LITTLEST THINGS I DO**

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	4. Chapter 4: The Littlest Things I Do

Disclaimer: I don't own FFVII, or Zack, or Sephiroth, or anything. I'm just borrowing the ideas from Square.

Summary: Pre-Meteor. What if the friendship between Sephiroth and Zack was not what it seemed? What does a man do when his personal life threatens to interfere with his job?

A Word From the Author: Wow, didn't expect the positive response. I really struggled with the end dialogue last chapter in order to stay in-character AND stay true to the goals of my story. Thanks to all you guys, really, for the boost:

**The anonymous user (since your symbols won't show up): **Here you go (presents chapter with dramatic flourish.

**Ardwynna Morrigu:** Gaylord…(sweatdrops) Yeah, this is one serious fic alright…I'm considering changing the humor genre to drama since there has barely been any humor in this fic yet. Though I'm hoping to inject some liveliness later on as Zack does his utmost to thaw Seph.

**Erufue:** Yup, Seph is going to be as 'bastardly' as I can make him. Be careful, Zack. Be very careful. Seph might be forgiving now, but when he's in a bad mood…

**Crystal Cat-chan:** Yeah, you're right. It's like so far the people Seph has met are either intimidated or in awe of him, and Zack's neither, so it's really refreshing for Seph. So he's kind of intrigued by Zack's backtalk, and he'll let it go the first time.

**diamond hunter:** And Zack's the man to do it. Time for Seph to realize that other people live on the same planet as him…

**Arken elf:** Well, the main chars are Seph and Zack after all, so they—and their little spats—will be showing up regularly in this fic from now on.

**lilalou:** Heh. Since you say so, I won't argue with you.

**ebonyflame85:** Yeah, I think it's the first time anyone's ever done something like this. Can't be too sure though.

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**FINAL FANTASY VII:**

**YOU DON'T HAVE TO WALK ALONE**

**CHAPTER FOUR:**

**THE LITTLEST THINGS I DO**

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_The littlest things I do _

_Aren't done just for show_

_I did them all for you_

_Just so that you know_

_Someone out there cares_

_Today and tomorrow._

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"Zack! Wait up!"

Startled out of his thoughts, Zack turned and halted obediently, and the blond-topped streak racing towards him at top speed was able to come to a stop in front of him, hands on knees and panting loudly. Zack smiled fondly as the little guard, his hair as menacing and spiky as Zack's himself, straightened and grinned, the corners of his eyes scrunching up until the smile seem to fill his whole face. Zack had kind of 'adopted' Cloud Strife some time back after he had discovered the diminutive trooper getting picked on by a group of larger kids. The SOLDIER had given them the hiding of their lives, and since then, Cloud had stuck to his older friend like a limpet to a rock. Cloud was cute and vulnerable enough that Zack didn't mind. With that puny stature, Cloud was bound to need some protection in the army, and Zack was willing to provide the muscle. Besides, there was something puppy-like and appealing about Cloud…

"I heard that you were promoted!" Cloud blurted out, staring at Zack with something akin to hero worship in his eyes. "That's like, so wow, Zack! Congratulations!"

Zack rolled his eyes slightly. "Yes, I've been hearing that the whole day." Along with some not so complimentary comments, he thought sourly. News seem to spread like wildfire in the army, since gossip was a breath of fresh air after the rigorous training schedule. The Shinra rumor mill was legendary. There were spies everywhere, and you couldn't do something without them knowing what it was. No doubt, if they'd participated in the Midgar-Wutai campaign as spies, within a week they'd probably have intimate knowledge of the whole of the Kisagari clan's inner workings, right down to the color of Lord Godo's underpants. Zack idly wondered how ShinRa had let all those resources go wasted.

Noticing Cloud's slightly crestfallen look at his somewhat surly tone, Zack tried to reassure his young friend, "It's okay, I'm not mad with you. It's just that suddenly a lot of people I don't know are coming up to me and congratulating me even though they don't know me and haven't cared to get to know me before I became first-class. It's like becoming first-class makes you a better person automatically." _Which it doesn't, _he added silently. "Sorry if I'm in a bit of a broody mood," he finished, flashing his megawatt smile, which never failed to cheer up Cloud. Indeed, the guard perked up immediately.

"Did you get to see the General?" Cloud asked excitedly as they began to stroll towards the direction of the mess hall. Zack normally would have spent the time hanging out and drinking with his usual group of friends, but then again, Cloud was still underage. The dark-haired SOLDIER nodded absently as his nose caught a whiff of the stew they were serving. It smelt good enough, and best of all it was _hot. _His stomach rumbled. "Yeah, sparred with him a little, got beaten up," he said casually as though fighting a silver-haired General with homicidal urges happened to him every day.

"How was he like?" Cloud questioned. Zack, reaching out his hand for the door knob, paused and gave his younger friend a look. Cloud had that dreamy expression on his face again as he stared off into space. "I want to be like him someday…"

Zack shook his head at the boy's obvious idolization. "I wouldn't be so sure if I were you." Cloud did not seem to have heard him; a moment later he shook himself out of whatever reverie he had fallen into and adopted a clueless look. "What did you say?"

"Frigid." Zack shrugged and politely held the door open. Cloud nodded his thanks and walked past. Even as Zack said the word, his conscience pricked him a bit—okay, a lot. What if Sephiroth _had _been right? He _did _work in ShinRa, after all, and most of its staff, not to mention its President, weren't exactly glowing examples of human virtue. What if all the people he'd had the most contact with had been corrupted and/or selfish, greedy, ambitious, etc., etc.? It was enough to make anyone lose hope in humanity.

And of course, with an attitude like that, no one was going to get near him to find out what he was really like. He drove off others to keep himself isolated. Alone, but safe. Zack realized, with no small amount of horror, that he was beginning to feel a trickle of pity, the most dangerous emotion ever, squeeze through his defenses. _You're becoming a hopeless romantic, Donovan, _he chastised himself. _What kind of soldier are you? Do you honestly believe that beneath that mask is a soft heart with a secret liking for chocolate, hugs and teddy bears? Dream on, Donovan, dream on._

But there _had _to be a heart, somewhere there. Buried really, _really _deep, but one that had a chance to be found. Zack cursed silently, at himself and his damned empathy. _It's just a job, _he insisted. _You're letting your feelings get in the way. Just get close to him, tell the President all about his precious General, and that'll be all. I even get a promotion for it. _

Somehow, this didn't seem very convincing.

"Zack!" Something was tugging at his arm. Behind him, stood three rather annoyed but intimidated-looking SOLDIERs, third-class, who was eyeing his uniform with trepidation. Cloud was the one who was gently shaking him in an attempt to bring him back to his senses. Feeling the blood rush to his face, he made an apology to the SOLDIERs before fleeing inside into the very furthest corner of the mess.

Cloud followed, seating himself right opposite. "Okay, what's wrong, Mr. Hotshot SOLDIER?" he said in his mock sternest voice, the good humor in his tone belied by the worry in his eyes. "Any other person I know would've been totally _thrilled _to be where you are, but you're just kind of glum. Something's on your mind," he went on more seriously, his concern making itself more known as he spoke. "If you need my help…don't hesitate to ask."

Occasionally Cloud would demonstrate the insightful qualities that made him such a good friend. Zack smiled and ruffled the blond spikes affectionately, to which Cloud responded with an outraged squeak. "Thanks, buddy, but this isn't exactly anything you can help me with."

"Ah! You admit something is wrong!" Cloud pointed at his friend triumphantly. When Zack's face remained somber, Cloud sighed. "Can't you even tell me what's bothering you? Even if I can't do anything, I could at least listen."

"I'm sorry, I can't," Zack said flatly, his apologetic eyes saying more than words could. Sensing that his interrogation was upsetting Zack, Cloud dropped the subject, and the conversation turned to lighter matters as the cafeteria lady ladled the dubious-looking, but savory, gruel into their bowls. Zack met Gregory halfway back to his seat, and with the memory of their earlier encounter still rankling in their minds, stared him down. Thankfully, probably due to fear of incurring the wrath of the General™, Gregory backed down with only a sneering comment about Zack's 'blond toyfriend." Zack deliberately dripped some of his steaming food into Gregory's shiny back boots and ankles, causing him to yowl in pain as the hot substance dribbled between sock and skin. Cloud subsided into a fit of vengeful laughter, while Gregory said something unprintable regarding Zack's mother before storming off with his friends. Zack had a feeling that he had just made life for himself in SOLDIER first-class worse.

Screw the Rat. Zack returned to the table in triumph and ate with Cloud in companionable silence. Companionable until he demanded to know the details and was summarily entertained for ten minutes by the tale of Gregory's downfall. "You really showed him, didn't you," Cloud said, chuckling, "You and the General."

It was, Zack reflected, the first time he had felt the remotest bit friendly towards the introverted General. "I'm cool, aren't I," he smirked and had to dodge as Cloud pretended to toss his bowl—still a quarter filled—at him. After dinner, he walked Cloud back to his barracks as was his custom and waved him goodbye.

"Don't be a stranger, okay?" Cloud called, smiling, as he disappeared into his dorm. Zack waited a moment to make sure that Cloud was fine before breaking into a loose stride. The events of the day had worn his body, as well as his brain, out, and he just wanted to return to the peace of his room and sort out his messed up emotions. Cloud was alright…he just didn't, couldn't understand. The kid's faith in ShinRa still amazed the hell out of Zack. His naiveté kept him from seeing, truly seeing, the truth of depth of ShinRa's crimes, and for that, Zack was almost glad. Let him grow up first, before he had to face up to the truth…

As he neared the hostel, the glass doors slid open, releasing a puff of cool air in his direction, along with a looming, silver-haired figure, his trademark long black coat swirling dramatically around his feet. His face had gone poker'd again, though there seemed to Zack that there was an angry twitch of his lips as he brushed past Zack without even noticing him. Once upon a time, Zack would have been happy enough to let Sephiroth ignore him, but this time, words came from his lips unbidden, effectively bringing Sephiroth to a sudden halt. "Sir! Are you…feeling well?" the SOLDIER said tentatively, as surprised by his action as the General himself was. It was a little creepy, the way he stared at Zack without speaking for a few moments, before he decided that it wouldn't do any harm to answer. "Yes, I am, Colonel," he said shortly. "It's just…" Here he paused, and with an almost imperceptible shake of his head, he muttered, "Those fools…"

"Excuse me?" Zack asked blankly.

But apparently Sephiroth decided he had said enough, because Zack's query was met with an apathetic, "It's nothing," as the General waved his question away and proceeded to walk straight past. On a sudden impulse, Zack turned and called, "Have a good night, General!"

There was no indication from Sephiroth that he had heard, no falter in his long strides, as he disappeared in the direction of the ShinRa HQ. Zack shrugged. _Oh well, at least I tried. _He entered the hostel, had a quick wash, and was asleep before his head hit the pillow.

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He had a very strange dream.

The walls were all made of shimmering crystal that sparkled in the bright morning sunshine, throwing ethereal streamers of light in all directions and upon the dappled surface of the lake. A platform—_altar—(_ a voice told him, and he accepted it without question in his dream-sleep) stretched into the middle, sitting in a pool of sunshine and glittering like a many-faceted diamond.

In the center knelt a girl.

Hair the color of polished mahogany, bound with pink ribbon, long dress—he knew her then, though he could not see her face. A sense of terrible danger had overtaken him, and he yelled at her desperately, calling her name over and over again. _Go! Run! _He screamed, and the despairing silence swallowed up his voice, cementing the terrible, fragile beauty of the lake and the altar.

Then the scene was plunged into darkness, as she lifted her head, smiling a smile of such joy and hope it broke his heart to see it, and he opened his arms to hold her and feel her love, bright and throbbing against the terror…

And the blade fell, and so did she, sprawled like a tragic heroine from some ancient play. The altar. The sacrifice. Her murderer smiled at him, insanity wheeling like broken-winged butterflies in the poisonous green of his eyes. Green. Red. Silver. Black. His mind reeled, as the blood turned his boots a deep, murderous crimson.

Not you not you damn it I failed— 

_You failed both of them, _his mind said clearly, and he gazed into the eyes of the demon he saw, reflected, brightly burning blue eyes, glittering with Mako and tears—

_Eyes that were not his-_

And then, a watery, more candid green, set in a narrow, angular face he came close to punching out of reflex before he realized where he was. A dream. Zack sat up shakily as the other man pulled back, twirling a slim baton in his hands. "That was close," the man said, his voice mellow, but with the unmistakable twang of a slum dialect—once upon the man had lived beneath the plates in the filthiness of the slums. Yet he was so different now, cockily confident, in a comfortably crumpled suit, rolling the rod expertly and heedless of the cobalt blue sparks that occasionally spat out of one end. "For a moment I thought I'd have to nail you with this." He thrust the nightstick dangerously close to Zack's face with a flourish.

With a scowl, Zack caught his wrist and pushed him away. "Quit playing and switch that toy of yours off before it hurts someone," he told the man sharply, "Reno." The redhead rolled his eyes, but a smirk tugged at one corner of his lips as he deactivated the nightstick and slid it back into his belt. "Spoilsport."

Zack leaned against the headboard and sighed. "So, what're you doing here—" he glanced at his clock. "—at bloody three a.m. in the morning? Not for a chat, I'm sure, unless you _missed _me so much you couldn't wait until a civil hour—" A ghost of a grin flitted across his face as Reno interrupted with a snort. "And you talk as much as ever, Donovan." The use of his surname made Zack sober up; Reno was here on business, and he could guess what. The Turk sat down in the room's only chair without so much as a 'please' and made himself comfortable, propping his muddy shoes on the sheets.

"Thanks."

"Hey, anytime." Reno stuck an unlighted cigarette in his mouth and it hung loosely from the side of his lips. "Anyway, the boss-man wanted me to give you this, and we can't be seen together. I haven't read it," he added as Zack took the plain brown envelope that Reno extracted from an inside coat pocket. "Whatever you're in, Donovan, you're in deep." Reno bit down in his cigarette, his eyes fixing meaningfully on Zack's. "Try to keep yourself alive, cos you're one of the few people around I can stand for more than ten seconds." A Turk compliment if he ever heard one. "Still, I don't see why I care, if anybody can just creep into your room and mess up with you however he likes. Some SOLDIER you are."

"Bad dream," Zack said briefly, not in the mood to say more. Already the details of the dream were already beginning to blur in his mind, as though it was a watercolor someone had passed a sponge over. Vague memories coalesced into one big jumble in his mind—a clear lake, green eyes, stark colors, and a dimly remembered fear, enough to leave his heart hammering in his chest.

"Ah," Reno said, as wisely as if he'd ordered the sending of the dream himself, before dismissing it. "Have another message for you. Verbal this time." The Turk's intense Mako eyes rested on Zack. _Do not fail._"

Zack nodded wordlessly. The Turk smiled again, though there wasn't a shred of genuine humor in his expression. "Really deep, huh, matey? As in _drowning. _Don't die on me now." It was as close a Turk would ever come to saying _Take care of yourself _and Zack appreciated the sentiment with which Reno's words were delivered. He watched without a trace of surprise as Reno hopped out of the window without hesitation, even considerately closing it behind him. Sleep was tugging at his eyelids, and he succumbed to its lure without too much fuss The last remnants of his will were spent shoving the envelope beneath his pillow, before sleep washed the lingering image of pleading green eyes from his mind's eye, and his memory.

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Author's Ending Note: 15/11/05: (sighs in a deeply satisfied manner) Been a long time since I got to write a properly angsty and mysterious dream sequence. It's got to be the easiest thing to write, _ever. _Anyway, it's finished sooner than I expected, which means that there'll be no such luck next time. I've got job attachment next week for five days, which means that I have to work at some IT servicing center from eight to six for the measly sum of ten dollars a day (can you believe that?), but then this whole thing is for gaining experience, not money, anyway. And right after that, I've got band camp from Tuesday to Friday, and I can't use the com on weekends. Not much time to think, much less write. (another sigh)

Bye to y'all. Any questions will be answered next chapter, and please review (coz you _know _you want to.)

T. Axile.

(edited, 15th Nov: Just realized that I've accidentally underlined and bold'd the entire fic. An apology to anybody who read the unedited chaper, I have no idea how this happened.)

NEXT: CHAPTER FIVE, **ALL I THOUGHT I NEEDED**

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	5. Chapter 5: All I Thought I Needed

Disclaimer: I don't own FFVII, or Zack, or Sephiroth, or anything. I'm just borrowing the ideas from Square.

Summary: Pre-Meteor. What if the friendship between Sephiroth and Zack was not what it seemed? What does a man do when his personal life threatens to interfere with his job?

A Word From the Author: 2/12/05: What! No review responses allowed: Just _how _do review responses affect a story in any way? It's actually loads more interactive than just clicking in, reading a story, and leave. You actually have something written specially for _you _alone by the author. It's called interaction.

Well. What's done is done. I'll be posting up review responses on my LiveJournal, which is currently a little barren, since I only created the account exclusively for review responses. I'll stick the referring URL on my profile sometime. The next week is a little packed, and I fear it'll be some time before I reach the bottom of the page. But enough of my rambling. Now for the story!

(Opening theme for Variations plays)

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**FINAL FANTASY VII:**

**YOU DON'T HAVE TO WALK ALONE**

**CHAPTER FIVE:**

**ALL I THOUGHT I NEEDED**

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_Life is cruel, living has taught me _

_Love and friendship, brief and fleeting_

_I was never lonely _

_So secure in my misguided believing_

_And then you came along_

_Tore it all apart _

_Showed me I was wrong._

_I should hate you for what you've done_

_But for what I feel in my heart…_

_That all I thought I needed_

_Wasn't and never would be enough._

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Zack awoke the next day, stupid and groggy from a night of restless sleep as his alarm blared in his ear. He slammed the 'off' button, effectively restoring blessed silence to his room, and glanced out the window. The sky was still dark, and he could see a faint sliver of moon visible through a gap in the clouds. Zack resisted the temptation to fall back into his bed and drag the still warm covers over his face for another fifteen minutes. He knew from experience that the 'fifteen minutes' would likely turn into an hour. Instead, with military discipline, he tossed aside the blanket regretfully and staggered into the bathroom—another blessing of First Class, no long queues or hair ( or other items of questionable origins) in the sink. Despite the less than pristine conditions of his room and the untidiness of his hair and uniform, Zack was a stickler for cleanliness in the bathroom. Toiletiquette was one of the odd fetishes for which he was absolutely adamant about.

Well, he had his odd quirks, and everybody else did. Zack dunked his entire head into a sinkful of cold water, gasping as the liquid, frigid against his flushed face, shocked him into wakefulness. Pulling his face out of the sink, Zack stared at his dripping reflection in the mirror. He was surprised to see that he looked…tired, dark bags standing out against his skin, pale beneath its tan, and the small, unhappy frown that unconsciously graced his lips. There was a time, not too long ago, when he would greet the sleeping dawn with enthusiasm and race out into the wilderness near his home, alone and armed with his sword. He wondered, absently, if Midgar was like a disease that stole the compassion from the hearts of men until they became as gray as stone, their eyes full of greed and dollar signs. He was changing, he suddenly realized. Before Midgar, he would never have allowed himself to engage in such depressing, aimless thoughts. These strange fancies were coming a lot frequently now. Sometimes, Zack wished that he had never left Gonganga, where life was simple and what he said was what he meant. He wouldn't be a SOLDIER, just a simple farm boy, but a carefree one.

_I don't regret it, though, _he thought, attacking his hair with a wet comb. The spikes retaliated by tangling in the comb's teeth and sticking out in all directions. Zack scowled deeply and flung it into the cupboard behind the mirror. _My life is that of a soldier's. No matter what army it is in. _

He got dressed, and had picked up his sword when he hesitated, remembering Reno's late visit and his warning. Slowly he reached beneath the pillow and extracted the brown envelope. It was unmarked and bulged at the end. Zack sat on his bed and stared at it lying in his lap, unmarked and anonymous, and slowly opened the flap. To his relief, it didn't explode or release poisonous gas. Instead, a plastic card, a microcassette, and a pocket-sized tape player. Looking inside the envelope, Zack discovered that there was an extra sheet of typed paper inside. He pulled it out after listening hard for footsteps in the corridor. It said, concisely and to the point:

_ACCESS CARD: CAT 678-098_

_SECURITY CLEARANCE: CODE BLUE_

_Contact numbers and subject profile can be accessed with card. Tape contains interviews with subject. In the event any information of interest comes up, a report is to be submitted **directly **to the concerned party._

_**MEMORIZE AND DESTROY THIS LETTER IMMEDIATELY.**_

Zack absorbed the information, read through it again to make sure he had everything before gripping the hilt of his sword and whispering, "Fire." The materia inset in the hilt glowed a soft green, a gentle warmth radiating out and spreading along my hand and arm, and within seconds, the piece of paper plus the envelope were nothing more than black cinders floating through the air.

The spiky-haired SOLDIER dusted the ashes from his hands and the grim expression from his face. It made him feel terrible as a human being to do this. And scared too. _As a soldier, my job was to uphold the honor and good image of the ShinRa army. Now I've got to spy on my own commanding officer. _He snorted derisively. _Such touching loyalty. _

In the meantime he concealed the other items in plain view among his collection of music CDs and DVDs before grabbing the Buster Sword and striding out the door. Today was field trip day, something he was glad of. It was a day he could get away from the machinations of his employers and vent his frustration by beating the crap out of some innocent monsters.

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Alone in his office, the Great General Sephiroth, head of the ShinRa armies, biggest and most technologically advanced in the world, and second only to the President, sighed—not glumly, the General would never allow himself such an emotion on ShinRa property. But it was a very long, gusty sigh nevertheless. He stared at the file on his desk intensely, until the poor paper came close to bursting into flames under the heat of his glare. The General was not in a good mood.

Or, since he never really was a good mood kind of person in the first place, (his numerous ex-aides and secretaries could specially attest to that) it was far more accurate to say that he was in a _worse_ mood than usual.

As in, the closest thing to hell on earth.

After the sigh, Sephiroth proceeded to slam his palm, face down, on his desk, making the papers and files stacked about a foot deep—albeit neatly in alphabetical order— on either side to jump alarmingly. There were times when he wished that he could just give up this whole Great General gig—but no, then he would lose what meager protection his current position offered him. Sephiroth harbored no illusions about the depth of his President's—hah!—loyalty towards the General. Once his usefulness was over, to the trash heap he would go. Ho hum.

Sephiroth wondered, sometimes, how would life as an ice-cream seller go. Or as a fashion consultant. Or as a swimsuit model. Anything other than what he was now. Half the time he cringed imagining it. Other times he actually craved it. _Anything_ had to be better facing old Kyahahaha, Gyahaahaa, and Tea With Lard every single damned day. Not to mention _him…_ The General's insides gave an unpleasant squirm at the thought of Hojo. The man was the only organic specimen in the whole Planet that had that kind of power over his intestines, and Sephiroth despised him for that, and a whole lot of other reasons. The reasons that made his guts wriggle uncomfortably in the first place.

The General tore his thoughts away from Hojo resolutely. Hojo _lived _to be hated. How he would smirk with victory to sense the General's thoughts right now! Be professional, he chastised himself. _Don't show emotions; it's a sign of weakness. _Hojo had taught him that much, at least.

He blew out a breath and dragged the file towards him. An official document, bearing the title, **REQUEST DENIED**¸ graced the top, the sole reason for the General's current annoyance. It was the third time he had tried to get that troublemaker out of the army, or at the very least, back to the rank of Private, where the boy should have been were it not for his _very _influential family that made generous 'donations' to the President on a regular basis. Sephiroth would have overlooked this—he'd been forced to overlook a lot of things going under his nose which his disciplined nature demanded he stamp out mercilessly—if the boy hadn't been one of he worst bullies and swordsman the SOLDIER program had seen thus far. Give a man a sword and if he couldn't handle it and knew it, he'd learn in time. Give a man a sword and he couldn't handle it but thought he could, and the situation was hopeless, usually because they were smart alecks who thought they knew better than their instructors. Those kind of people couldn't _learn. _People like Kent Gregory.

Three times he'd asked politely. Three times he was rejected. Yesterday had been the last straw when he'd caught Mr. Gregory and Friends ganging up on the newcomer. Really, there was only so much one could tolerate. Sephiroth ground his teeth. _No wonder this army is going to the dogs, if the prerequisite for entry to SOLDIER amounts to having wealthy parents willing to dip into their pockets for a favored child. _

"Kent Gregory," he muttered to himself abstractedly, his eyes glowing hotter than ever. "Your family name can't protect you forever, and neither can the President." With a disgruntled sound. Sephiroth tossed the file into his drawer and removed a sheaf of papers from the 'In' tray. He gazed at the top sheet blankly for ten seconds without registering the words. It was only when he'd read 'Six KARMA-style broadswords sent for repair' six times that he snapped out of his reverie and took a good, hard measurement of himself.

He finally admitted to himself that the source of his ire was not from his failure to reassign Gregory to the bottom of the ladder so much as the overtures of his section's newest member, one Colonel Zachary Donovan. The SOLDIER had asked if _he _was alright—an instinctive response, borne out of concern rather than rational thinking, and he had seen the surprise (and fear, but then, there was _always _the fear, and it was the other emotion hat disturbed him more) in the other man's eyes even as he had uttered the words. Sephiroth was used to power plays, attempts to curry favor, and pure, simple sucking up to a superior. But what he _wasn't _expecting was that dangerous emotion—caring. Donovan had only asked the question for one purpose—he had wanted to know, and not for personal gain or any sinister reason, but out of genuine concern. And that had been unnerving, because he hadn't behaved like Sephiroth had expected to—like his other SOLDIERs.

That trend had started with the talking back yesterday morning. Then the greeting—acknowledgement of him as a real human being, instead of the General, in…how long?

As the General had turned away, the SOLDIER had wished him good night. Considering that he hadn't slept well in over a decade, such a wish was laughable, yet it gave him pause. When Donovan had spoken to him, it had made him, for the first time in the longest while, feel good.

Which sure didn't happen everyday.

Sephiroth knew a hell lot of things, but it was times like this he also knew that there were also hell lot of things he _didn't _know. And it disconcerted him. He was an excellent swordsman, the best there ever was, and he knew a hundred ways to disarm an opponent when unarmed himself; he was a master tactician and he churned out war strategies faster than Harpies bred. But in the uncertain territory of _feelings _he was, to put it mildly, a fumbling blunderer.

All he could do, all he _knew _to do, was to tighten his defenses. Those mental barriers were old, familiar friends that he'd erected himself when he was a child. They had protected him for a long, long time. He just hoped that they could protect him now.

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Author's Ending Note: 5/12/05: Oh, great. Sephiroth goes on an angsty side-trip, what's new? I really need you guys' honest feedback. Is he too OOC? Or is his character fluctuating throughout the story? Is Zack convincing? All this and more! It'd be really appreciated.

Added 6/12/05: Homepage on my profile has been changed to my livejournal. You guys can take a look at the review responses there.

Next chapter, Zack interacts more with Seph and kicks monster butt. See everyone there!

Yours, T. Axile.

NEXT: CHAPTER SIX, **TAKE MY HAND**

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	6. Chapter 6: Take My Hand

Disclaimer: I don't own FFVII, or Zack, or Sephiroth, or anything. I'm just borrowing the ideas from Square.

Summary: Pre-Meteor. What if the friendship between Sephiroth and Zack was not what it seemed? What does a man do when his personal life threatens to interfere with his job?

A Word From the Author: 14/12/05: Thanks for all the reviews. The joke about Sephiroth selling ice-cream made me laugh…thanks, wyrd. And hey, Ryvian, when are you going to update 'First Class?'

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**FINAL FANTASY VII:**

**YOU DON'T HAVE TO WALK ALONE **

**CHAPTER SIX:**

**TAKE MY HAND**

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_Spiraling, spiraling into the unseen darkness_

_I beg you not to fall_

_Into the burning madness_

_That can and will consume all._

_Take my hand_

_Take hold and escape_

_Into a brighter and better land_

_Where beginnings are shaped_

_By beings like me and you_

_By beings who care._

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The sunlight was bright, blindingly so, after the stark bleakness of Midgar, all nourishing rays barred from the gray streets by tall, looming monsters like bulky monsters squatting on the sides of the roads, and Zack squinted against it as he and his fellows exited the gates and walked onto the loose, blackened soil stretching out in a wide radius from his city as far as the eye could see. Poisoned by the dumpings of Midgar, nothing grew here, save for a few spots of stubborn green that clung to the contaminated earth. Nevertheless, _outside _was far better than _inside, _where the only green was that of money and weeds that grew unnoticed in gutters and the blooms of a flower girl, and the air was a thousand times sweeter than anything else in the city. Zack took a deep breath, the air warm with morning sunshine, though laced with something like smokiness, from the eternal smog that covered his city like a death shroud, and he could almost forget the tall, dark figure of the General a few paces ahead, the sunlight glinting off the edge of the bared Masamune in his hand.

"You know what they say about absence making the heart grow fonder?" Akira said, smiling pleasantly. "Oh yeah, Midgar's a great place and all, but there's nothing like being out _here, _ fighting those creatures, in their own environment, and you have to think quick on your feet—" He laughed. "And all you can think about is how goddamned _fake _those stimulations are back home."

And Zack had to agree. More so because living in Midgar made sunlight, any at all, a precious commodity, and all the more _valued, _and you needed it to wash off the stench of oil and smoke and iron from your skin, which, after a while, got ingrained because everything around you _smelled like that—_

They stopped a little way from Midgar, clustered around the General like ducklings around a mother duck, except that the General was far too forbidding and nasty to qualify for anything remotely cute and fuzzy. Poker face in place, he proceeded to regurgitate regulations that was clearly more protocol than anything else; the other SOLDIERs were trying not to look bored out of respect and fear for the General, though Gregory was openly rude and insatiably smugger than usual, his lips moving to whisper the words an instant before Sephiroth said them. The General ignored this with a patented blank expression and turned away as the SOLDIERs, with practiced ease, moved into their training groups, stacked tightly in formation. Sephiroth stalked about like a black-feathered crow, his swift eyes constantly roving, gauging, and measuring as his SOLDIERs left the barren ground and emerged into a new land; one of tall green grasses that began as a soft fuzz at the edge of the dying earth and grew braver as their roots plunged into fresher soil, butterflies, bird calls, and the unidentified calling of near and distant animals as they moved. It had been far too long since he'd come out, Zack thought, wishing that Aeris was here with him to see this. Aeris created her own garden and her own happiness, though. It was one of the many things he liked so much about her.

He did not know most of his group members, whom he knew by name and sight; the only one he had really acquainted himself with was Akira. There was blonde Leonard Marling, small and wiry, with a primate's grace and skill in climbing—_anything, _really. Hailo Kurst, tall and sun-burned, with the personality of a lamppost but a killer shot with a rifle. Shale Turner, the youngest, lean with ropy muscles, with a genial and unassuming manner. Zack suddenly realized how little he had gotten to know the other first-class SOLDIERs. Normally, he would have leaped at the opportunity to meet new people, make new friends; embarking on a new adventure. The proof of how much he had changed disquieted him.

The training groups—nine in all—fanned out, not too near, but not far enough to get separated, patrolling their own preset grids and cutting down any monster that popped up unexpectedly through the long grass. Occasionally a chocobo would show up to cock its head at them and blink large, liquid eyes, begging for Greens with its unbearable cuteness, and sometimes traders from Kalm would pass by, gawking at the sweating SOLDIERs and mostly at Sephiroth if they managed to get a glimpse of him. Sephiroth bore it all—the pointing fingers, flurried whispers, and gaping mouths—remarkably well, for someone of his infamous temperament, though Zack sometimes thought he caught a hint of something _dark _in the lines of the General's face, some subtle shift of lips and eyes that indicated displeasure in a far more frightening way than an outright snarl could. He moved silently, among the SOLDIERs with easy grace, watching, pointing out their mistakes and correcting them, but otherwise hovering at the sidelines to observe without comment. At first Zack was uncomfortable with this, feeling the unfathomable stare burn into his back as he cut and slashed, but finally grew to expect it as he caught Sephiroth's gaze on him more and more often.

He didn't say anything though, just gazed quietly with disturbing intensity. Sephiroth rarely had to step in and point things out. The monsters about Midgar were nothing more than deformed mutants of common garden creatures gone awry after Midgar began belching deadly poisons into the air and dumping toxins into the earth. His SOLDIERs dispatched them easily, and trooped to Kalm when the sun began to fall in the sky, long fingers of purple shadows beginning to stretch across the land. The people of Kalm retreated into their homes, the streets emptying as the SOLDIERs entered, brash and blatantly oblivious to the unease that preceded their arrival. Not everybody believed that the Shinra's reign was a good thing, or would last forever. Men of power never did, and Rufus Shinra was beginning to look at his father in a _way _of late that signaled change. The people of Kalm were just that—calm and unhurried, liking the slow movement of day into night and night into day, the old reliable currents of life they waded through and were used to. Kalm had been here before Midgar, and those had been better times, despite the poverty; now they were prosperous from trade with Midgar but far to the east their green grasses were dying, and the chocobos fell sick from eating the tainted grass…

What would happen when the taint reached Kalm?

It was not something they cared to think too much about, but it manifested, in their daily lives, as vague feelings of nervousness, jumpiness, and surreptitious glances at the waving grasses, as though to make sure they were still there, green and sun-kissed. The SOLDIERs' presence reminded them of all these, brought them back to the times when ShinRa's army had subdued Kalm's militia with what could barely charitably be called a fight. The President had been young and razor-eyed then, in his prime and dangerous as a shark in bloody water. Cities and towns all over the world had been alerted to the ShinRa's superiority at the same time, as the President had announced his dominance over the whole world, and one by one they had fallen in line, submitting meekly to his will as a beaten dog cringes towards his master's hand. Even Wutai, in the end. Long over, but so hard to forget…the memory of purple uniforms splattered with mud and blood, the metal of their armor and blades glowing orange from the blazing flames.

And it was with this memory in mind the patrons fell silent as the company entered the bar, all mud-stained and joking laughter and easy smiles. The General stayed outside, a dark and forbidding silhouette against the flaming sunset. Zack paused to look at him, so strangely alone and aloof even as he was surrounded as he was by the laughter and teasing of the men he'd almost single-handedly trained, and felt, as he seemed to be doing so lately now, a twinge of the old dislike mixed with pity. He dawdled outside as the other SOLDIERs filed in, until it became clear that the General was not going to follow them in. He finally drew the General's attention at last, the odd, vividly green eyes fringed with white lashes rising to meet his, coldly reflective as a mirror, and Zack could see his own face in it, hesitant, and ever so slightly, pitying. It made him feel young and foolish, and he cringed from the words on his lips, but duty—he told himself that it was just that, duty, though his own heart denied him—"Why don't you join us?" he said, with an encouraging smile that felt too weak, and in a voice that sounded too high and nervous to his own ears. And _he _gave him a strange look, the mirrorlike surface wavering, oh, so little, the erect stance stiffening more than ever, if that was even possible.

"I don't drink," Sephiroth said, stiffly, icily; his very posture, straight and drawn up and military, his voice, his eyes—all aimed, it seemed, at driving him away. And now Zack could tell himself, Yes, I tried and I failed, I can try again another day, so why did that not make him feel better, as though he had failed at something, inexplicably out of his reach, and yet something that he should know?

"You don't _have _to. We could just talk. Guy talk," Zack said, pitching his voice in an effort to sound more in control—he sounded horribly as though he was reading lines off a script, and falling flat. The scene was going wrong, none of the actors were saying what they should, and he felt, under the needlelike pricks of his General's eyes, as nervous as if he was really fluffing lines in front of an audience. He pulled on a jaunty smile, like one shrugged on a comfortable jersey, old and worn and you _knew _every thread and patch of it, the weave of the fabric, from long use—it came to his lips easily, from memory, and stayed there. "When was the last time you had fun, General? You're always so uptight. Relax."

The General stared, openly incredulous this time. Behind Zack, the door opened again, and Akira said, "Hey, whatcha doing hanging out here all by your lonesome—" and halted. Zack did not need to turn to know that he was looking, curiosity and amazement in his eyes, but his voice was enough to break the moment, and Sephiroth lidded his eyes again, and Zack felt a flash of disappointment—but it hadn't been Akira's fault, or anyone's, for that matter. "I'm coming," he said to Akira, whose open face could not quite disguise the growing suspicion, "Missed me?"

And Akira was smiling again, as though nothing had ever happened. "Self-flatterer." He took Zack's arm and led him away, but not before Zack had craned his neck for a backward look at his General, closed up once more and silent as the grave. There was no sign that anything had changed at all.

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He had done it _again. _

Done it again with his stupidly dense grin and his damned attitude…so sickeningly _hopeful _it hurt, somewhere deep and low in his chest, to listen to him.

Sephiroth rubbed his temples wearily. He was getting a headache, and it was all thanks to him.

When was the last time…?

He didn't know what he was feeling, now that his traitorous body was turning on him; he was continually fighting the urge to do silly _weak _things like smile and laugh. Things that were unfit for him to do, so ingrained into his psyche as below him that he automatically fought such reflexes the moment his brain got a warning sign. He could not precisely remember why. He just had a vague, blurry sense of _wrongness _and numbness. All he knew that it was wrong. It was not him. He had not smiled since he was a boy, save for cruel, mocking ones. The memories were blurring, warping whenever he tried to focus. He rarely tried to. His boyhood had never been happy, and he was better off leaving it alone.

But Donovan was stirring it all up again, and he despised him for it.

_Why can't he leave me alone? Leave me alone, damnit. _

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Hurt hurt hurt hurt redness blackness iron on his tongue 

_—tasted like rust, lemons too, bitter and slippery, cold—_

—_how many times must I tell you—_

_(wails, echoing through the void distance of years)_

_—YOU LITTLE BRAT!_

_(A whisper, then, broken like the fragile wings of birds, light and trembling as the fluttering of falling feathers)_

"_I'm sorry…so sorry…won't do it again…"_

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Author's Ending Note: 19/12/05: Sorry for the slightly uneven tone here, I was trying for a different writing style than I used normally. I tried to be a little more abstract and rambling and angsty than usual—did it work? Was it good? Should I stick with my old style?

There is little action in here, mostly because I can't find my FFVII copy, and therefore cannot check the names of the monsters that roam around Midgar. Being a stickler for accuracy, I chose to omit any fighting scenes altogether. I'll gladly rewrite this chapter again with battles included if someone would send me a list of monster names.

By the way, in response to a reviewer's query, most of this story is from Zack's POV, not Seph's. This is more Zack's story than it is Sephiroth's. I'm sorry. However, I did include some Sephy angst in here, so feast on it as much as you like.

Review responses will be posted on my Livejournal tomorrow, I've got some h/w that needs finishing :0( Thanks for everybody's support, it means so MUCH to me, huggles to all reviewers! I really can't say this enough. Thank you!

T. Axile.

NEXT: CHAPTER SEVEN: **THERE ARE WORLDS IN SILENCES**

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	7. Chapter 7: There Are Worlds In Silences

Disclaimer: I don't own FFVII, or Zack, or Sephiroth, or anything. I'm just borrowing the ideas from Square.

Summary: Pre-Meteor. What if the friendship between Sephiroth and Zack was not what it seemed? What does a man do when his personal life threatens to interfere with his job?

A Word From the Author: 29/1/06: Hello, sorry for the wait. Had some trouble adjusting to the new year; it's going to be a real ultra-busy one. Anyway, I know last chapter sucks. I will henceforth revert to straightforward style. Purple is not me.

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**FINAL FANTASY VII:**

**YOU DON'T HAVE TO WALK ALONE**

**CHAPTER SEVEN:**

**THERE ARE WORLDS IN SILENCES**

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_There are worlds in silences_

_Anger hatred bitterness stark fear_

_The words I want to say burning a hole in me_

_Leaving a void only anger can cure_

_The hidden darkness no one will see._

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It was late, and Zack's eyes hurt; he wanted nothing more than to collapse on the warm haven of his bed and let sleep carry him off. But he was not in his room. He was thirty floors up in the ShinRa HQ at an ungodly hour when all but the most dedicated workers and sycophants had gone home like all sane people should. But oh no, here he was, typing a stream of passwords and commands into an uncooperative computer and struggling unsuccessfully to stifle his yawns.

"Damn President…" he muttered, but it sounded unconvincing, when his voice was weak and ready from exhaustion. Rubbing at sore eyes, he squinted at the screen. A blinking cursor hung suspended in cyber space before it swooped away and was swallowed by a new window, which proclaimed that he was authorized to view the information contained in so-and-so folders up to Blue. "Yeah, get on with it," he threw at the screen in annoyance. After a grueling day on the field, he was in no mood to be nice. He kept glancing at the door of the office assigned to him nervously, though the door was securely locked. As a soldier, he was not supposed to be in the HQ after hours, much less on Level 30. But it was the only time of the day he could possibly have sneaked away. His comrades—and superior—would have found his absence from duty extremely conspicuous, not to mention suspicious.

If Sephiroth figured out what he was up to…

He gave a delicate shudder.

"Computer, get a search running," he ordered. "Search parameters: anything pertaining to General Sephiroth." The computer beeped in pleasant agreement and adopted a humming sound while the little ShinRa logo at the top flashed repetitively. Zack soon realized his error as the computer presented him with a long list of documents, most of which were records of Sephiroth's exploits in Wutai and propaganda posters. Zack clicked through a few of them out of pure curiosity, winking cheekily at Sephiroth's scowling visage, under which was a slogan proclaiming him to be the 'Noble, courageous savior of Midgar'. He choked back a laugh as he imagined the look on Sephiroth's face as he laid eyes on one of those posters.

He sobered down and got a new search done, and ended up with a few high-security files that his new card readily gave him access to. They were quite big files, and he soon found out why: they were high quality recordings with sound. He lowered down the volume first before running them. A younger Professor Hojo flickered to life on the screen; his hair was jet black and he was less stooped. In a blandly dispassionate voice he said, "This is Professor Alexander Hojo speaking…" The screen jittered to accommodate him as he turned around, and in the same emotionless voice, continued, "…on the subject on Project Jenova, codename RENUION. Project's subject is progressing well—" He gestured, and the camera swung around to the side to reveal a boy previously out of frame; he was sitting in a chair in a sullen position, half-slouching, lips bowed and eyes half-lidded, and with a sense of shock Zack recognized his General. The combination of silver hair and catlike green eyes were unmistakable, and unless Sephiroth had a twin…nah, the world didn't have enough space for two Sephiroths.

He returned his attention to the video. At Hojo's request—order—the boy Sephiroth got up and approached him, dragging his feet enough to convey his reluctance. Piercing green eyes glared at Zack, enough to make him feel guilty about prying into his General's affairs. That confirmed, of course, what he and his comrades had always speculated and suspected; that the General had been one of Hojo's, a guinea pig. The mere thought sickened Zack.

Hojo proceeded to rattle off a list of figures that meant nothing to Zack, and concluded with, "The subject is progressing well and is showing abnormal signs of growth. Has the intellectual capacity of an individual twice his age. Mark: Daily intake of Jenova cells and Mako as of now is nine units. No side effects as of present. Increase of three units to gauge effects."

Behind Hojo, the boy's smooth face suddenly twitched; just a miniscule amount, but enough to tell Zack that he was unnerved. The poison-green eyes bored into the scientist with such intense hatred that Zack shuddered. Then the youthful visage turned blank, absolutely blank, all emotion draining as Hojo turned. "Back to your cell, boy," he said, almost jovially.

"Yes, Professor." An underlying edge of malice. Like a puppet with its strings cut, the small figure shuffled away with zombie-like slowness while Hojo said, "End report." The screen went dark.

Zack was beginning to regret the impulse that had brought him here tonight, but the curiosity—and pity—aroused within him would not let him go. He opened the next link and settled back to watch. The video was dated two months from the previous. The screen showed a glass enclosure, reinforced with delicate but strong adamantine wire. The glass had been polished to a high sheen. At the far end sat a crumpled little body, and Zack cursed silently as he recognized Sephiroth.

Hojo's voice, which Zack was beginning to despise tremendously, came off-screen, sounding as usual as though he was talking about a household appliance or machine rather than a real, live person and someone Zack actually _knew_—spoke, "Today we shall test the subject's combat skills and reflexes by forcing him to fight, in a closed environment, with low-level monsters picked at random from the Midgar area. Begin."

Zack's jaw dropped open as the camera zoomed in on Sephiroth. His eyes had the glazed look of someone who had been drugged intensively, and his movements were stiff and jerky. His hands lay curled in his lap, and long silver hair was splayed across his face. He was dreadfully silent. Zack muttered a long list of curses regarding Hojo's parentage and dubious sexuality while a door at the other end hissed open, admitting a huge dog-like creature with bristling purple-gray fur—a Kalm Fang, which Zack had dealt with plenty of times before. But he was a grown man and armed, while Sephiroth had been a small, vulnerable boy and doped to boot.

The boy remained still. The wolf staggered in; its ribs showed in stark, cruel relief against its skin. The animal had been starved and savagely treated, and now hatred and hunger shone with a feverish light in its crimson eyes. It snarled, gathered its gaunt body for a leap—

The boy stood, mechanically. A sickly smile spread across his face, and he opened his arms as though to embrace the lunging beast. The wolf landed, its bulk bowling the boy right over, and for a moment the Fang's massive body concealed the boy from the camera. Then, Sephiroth suddenly erupted into a flurry of motion. With a _whuff_, the Fang was thrown right off into the wall. Sephiroth scrambled to his feet, and the camera zoomed in on the wide, inhuman smile on his face. The lips were slightly parted, the eyes open and blank and somehow unseeing. With a spurt of strength, Sephiroth braced himself against the floor and threw himself onto the struggling Fang. It flailed wildly in the boy' grasp, seemingly unable to break free, its writhing claws tearing shallow wounds into his flesh.

Sephiroth smacked the side of the wolf's head, and it reared back, leaving its throat bare. The boy's hands fit snugly around the beast's neck, and with a terrible fury flung the Fang's head again and again against the sturdy glass wall. Bloody bits of bone and brain scattered themselves on the glass and on the boy's face; yet, expression horribly intent, he persisted in its grisly task. The worst thing about it was that it was so _silent, _the thick glass choking off all soundof the battle, while in the distance someone was shouting, "Abort! Abort!" All the time the camera had stayed in close-up, and as Zack looked into the youthful, bloody face—_so familiar—_he abruptly closed the window, unable to see anymore. Angrily he pushed himself backwards and brooded.

_Who is he?_

There was no answer for him. After a moment, he quickly shut down everything, pocketed his card, and departed. The hallways were still and deserted, oddly artificial in the harsh fluorescent glare, which made everything look white and washed-out. Zack stumbled down the corridor, still struggling to absorb the truth of what he had seen.

_Your General is a monster!_

All this time, he'd thought—what had he thought? Sephiroth had been human—cold and emotionless, yes, but still human. But there had been a savage glee in how he killed, a smile that celebrated the taking of a life. The image loomed, stark and indelible, in his mind, the little boy, become the man.

_You knew all along, didn't you?_

And he remembered the dream. _No, I refuse to believe that. I saw—today—_

The nights spent with friends, talking late into the night, exchanging rumors and gossip—have you heard yes I have the General he's you know—_the General—_

"_I want to be like him someday," Cloud said, his expression dreamy, eyes staring far away. _A statement echoed down the ranks of the ShinRa Army. Powerful, ridiculously wealthy, handsome, absolute freedom—who wouldn't want to be General Sephiroth?

Zack knew a secret, and it was: The General wasn't perfect. He now realized what dead Lieutenant Cole had done to earn Sephiroth's wrath. Unable to keep it to himself, he had attempted to blackmail the General, thus getting himself a quick one-way ticket to hell. The General was not to be intimidated.

It was somehow different, to discuss half-truths so outrageous that you knew couldn't be true anyway—but oh so fun—from actually knowing the _truth. _What he had seen was not a lie. Laid bare before him, it told him oh so cruelly and casually that _your General is a monster._

Unbidden, a new thought emerged from the churning mess of turning gearwheels that was his mind. _If he is a monster, then Hojo made him that way._

When had it happened? When had pity come in and broken down all his reservations, his resentment, against his aloof General? It was, for him, no longer a job and simple blackmail. He pitied his General, a man who was only second in power in the entire world, a man who could have ordered the entire Nibel Mountains dug up and shifted to Corel if need be. It was so utterly improbable that he could have laughed, but he suspected that he would have wept instead. The hatred in the boy's eyes ate at him, gnawed at his conscience; a hatred that spoke of long suffering at the hands of a soulless man.

So awful, to see such worldly wisdom in eyes so young…at that age, what had he been doing? Where had he been? Living a simple and innocent life in a village, growing up and playing at battle like all boys do. Where had Sephiroth been? Born in a sterile laboratory wrestling with monsters twice his size in glass cages.

He was still thinking hard when he entered the elevator, and was thus considerably surprised to be jerked out of his reverie when a soft voice penetrated his subconscious.

"And what," said the General, as though sprung fully formed from his thoughts, with deceptive gentleness, "are you doing here, where you have no business to be?"

"_Damn_," Zack said immediately, and rather unwisely.

"That isn't an answer," Sephiroth said. His feline eyes narrowed, studying Zack's face with that familiar piercing gaze that all miscreants in the army had learnt to dread. The silence lengthened as Zack considered and discarded various excuses. In a pose of languid boredom, Sephiroth leaned against the side of the elevator and waited.

_I was looking through files of your life _did not seem like an appropriate response, so Zack decided to go through with a half-truth. "I was…doing something for the President," he said with a valiant attempt at a confident smile.

He could tell from the General's poker expression that it was not working. Nevertheless, Zack decided to continue with his story. "You can ask him if you want."

Silence again. With the General, it was the worst thing you could get, because it probably meant that he was analyzing what you were saying and finding it not to his liking. When Sephiroth finally broke the silence, Zack was already bracing himself for the worst. Therefore he found himself surprised yet again when Sephiroth said, in quite a peculiar voice, "Very well. I will consider your story. Tomorrow, then."

"…Sir?" Zack said tentatively. Now that he looked closely, Sephiroth's skin had an unhealthy pallor to it, and there were dark circles beneath his eyes, all the more pronounced because of his deathly paleness. And there was something strange about his posture…

"Get out!" Sephiroth snarled, with a flash of anger, which he rarely displayed, and when he did, it was wise to get away as soon as possible. Zack had stepped out of the tube before he knew what he was doing, and now he stood bemused as the elevator descended rapidly with its irascible cargo.

"…What the hell?" he said finally.

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As soon as he was sure he was safe from prying eyes, Sephiroth gave way to the inner workings of his system. He doubled over, coughing harshly into his hand, and closed his fingers swiftly about the dark splotch on his glove. Another one ruined, thanks to that bastard…and thank whatever Powers That Be that Donovan hadn't seen that, or he'd buzz around more than he did already. Like a wasp, he was, only more troublesome.

He closed his eyes, fighting the nausea and exhaustion that tore at his defenses. He wondered, rather bleakly, how long he could bear the pain. He'd just have to fight on, like he always did. On his own. Drawing on his reserves of strength, he straightened and shook out his shoulders, choking back the liquid that fought to claw up his throat. Time for that at home, where no one was looking…

He strode out of the entrance, and towards the waiting limo. The chauffeur received him with a respectful nod without bothering to hold open the door for him, since it was known that he didn't put up with that kind of nonsense. "My house," he said quietly, and managed to remain awake for the rest of the journey.

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Author's Ending Note: 30/1/06: It's late, I'm tired…all I say is, to all concerned, Happy Chinese New Year. And I hope you enjoyed the story.

T. Axile.

NEXT: CHAPTER EIGHT, **SCALING THE WALLS**

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	8. Chapter 8: Scaling the Wall

Disclaimer: I don't own FFVII, or Zack, or Sephiroth, or anything. I'm just borrowing the ideas from Square.

Summary: Pre-Meteor. What if the friendship between Sephiroth and Zack was not what it seemed? What does a man do when his personal life threatens to interfere with his job?

Author's Note: 3/2/06: Hello. Sorry for the lack of review responses; have I mentioned that I was busy?

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**FINAL FANTASY VII:**

**YOU DON'T HAVE TO WALK ALONE**

**CHAPTER EIGHT:**

**SCALING THE WALL**

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_There are walls that reach high_

_How I stretch and long to spy_

_Over the forbidding guardians of this place_

_And see for an instant its true face._

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Zack was running. It was a gloriously perfect feeling, this, to feel his muscles moving in harmony, the salty smell of his own sweat strong in his nostrils and the dirt and sweat coating his skin. The breeze that beat against his face invigorated him. With a leap, he caught hold of the high wall, the heels of his boots rapping against the brick as he kicked off and swung himself over the top, to land in a crouch on the ground—in front of a pair of booted feet?

In some consternation Zack glanced up, only to be confronted with the sight of his General's annoyed visage, which meant that his eyes were slightly narrower than usual. Akira stood nervously at the side, holding a stopwatch in his hand; his eyes were moving from one to the other, like a ping-pong ball. "Er…" he stuttered slightly. "Good time, Zack…" His voice failed him.

To Zack's surprise, Sephiroth nodded too. "Congratulations, Donovan. However, that is **not **what I wanted to speak to you about. My office. Now." Without another word, he spun around on his heel and departed, clearly expecting Zack to follow him. Seeing Zack standing frozen, Akira gave him a push and hissed, "_Go! _Are you crazy or something?" Thus spurred into action, Zack vacated his spot and ran after the General, drearily conscious of his once-again sweaty state. _Why, _he wondered despairingly, as his feet pounded the ground, why was it when he was in most urgent need to impress did he end up looking like something the dogs had left behind?

_Because, _answered an annoyingly superior voice in Zack's head. Zack ignored this voice despite the fact that it belonged to him, and marched unwillingly in his General's wake, to the most dreaded of places, i.e. the General's office. He would've preferred a boiling vat of lava or even the crater of a smoking volcano. Neither of the former had the power to scorch or reduce the most arrogant of cadets to gibbering wrecks as the General did.

The trip upwards was exceedingly uncomfortable, at least for Zack. The two of them were alone in the elevator, since its previous occupants had immediately vacated it upon sight of the General. Now, entrapped in stony silence, words failed Zack. He made an attempt to catch the general's eye, but his courage faltered and he found his gaze nosediving back to the tips of his mud-encrusted shoes.

"Come." The elevator dinged, and Sephiroth marched out with military precision. Trailing flecks of dried mud, Zack trudged after him feeling as though he was going off to his doom. Who ever said that the condemned man would have one last meal? He wondered mournfully. Even thinking of the mess' dubious fare was making his stomach growl. He winced as his rebellious stomach suited deed to thought, making Sephiroth falter slightly. "Decorum, Donovan," he said without looking behind.

"Well, _excuse _me," Zack mumbled under his breath before he could stop himself, freezing as he remembered that Sephiroth had ears like a cat and could, it was said, even hear the drop of a pin at night. Indeed, he had once detected a squad of silent Wutaian assassins creeping through the woods upon the unsuspecting men. The General had killed them all in a display so brutal and carelessly efficient that his men had whispered of the incident for weeks behind his back.

The General did not deign to comment. Zack let out his breath and took a good look at his surroundings. Expensive paintings hung on the elegantly shaded walls, and the carpet underneath his boots was a soft, flushed pink that made Zack feel guilty about putting his feet on it. A little fountain along the corridor burbled quietly, lending a peace and tranquility about the surroundings that Zack would not have believed possible in a place like ShinRa. Only the bloody ShinRa crest, set in a position of prominence at the end of the corridor, spoiled the settings. Sephiroth stopped at a door next to it (polished redwood) and pressed a palm to the reader. It beeped happily and the door sung inwards.

Zack cautiously peeped in around his General's tall frame. It was a surprisingly ordinary-looking office, militarily neat, clean almost to the point of sterilization. Unlike other officers whose offices Zack had visited (good times, good times) in the past for some (bad) reason or other, Sephiroth kept his walls free of ornament or medals. Zack knew well that Sephiroth had been decorated many times for courage in battle, yet it seemed that he took little pride in the accolades and ribbons he had received. The room was austere, the only indication to the status of its occupant the gold-engraved plague bearing GENERAL upon the desk. There were no personal items. This office, it appeared, was one that the General worked in, nothing more. Zack felt a surprising sadness at that realization.

In a quick, graceful movement, the General seated himself at his desk, folding his long frame comfortably into a black swivel chair. His leonine eyes flashed impatience at the SOLDIER, still hesitating at the entrance. Zack made a hasty, apologetic gesture and drifted in. The door slid shut on well-oiled rollers. Ill at ease and clearly unhappy about the situation, Zack stood in front of the General and held his salute.

"At ease." Sephiroth said. Zack relaxed, seated himself without asking. If he was going to die, he might as well do it in comfort. He kept his eyes fixed on the bridge of the General's nose, attempting a contrite expression while avoiding his superior's eyes.

"Frankly speaking, Donovan," the General said. "This is completely off the record." He paused for a second to let that sink in before resuming. "Imagine my surprise when I consulted the President and found that that they allow mere SOLDIERs to roam about the building at will at midnight to perform 'matters of extreme delicacy.'"

Wondering if Sephiroth was actually attempting a joke, Zack tried on a weak smile. It only made the General look more forbidding than ever. Abandoning his theory, Zack adopted a serious and attentive visage. He also decided that it would not be conducive to his health—or, indeed, to the continued existence of vital body parts—to say, at this juncture, "I told you so."

"I am the General of the armed forces, Donovan." The General's eyes bored into his. "No 'delicate' operations are carried out without my knowledge, if without my consent." For a moment his mouth acquired a decidedly bitter slant. When he spoke again, it was in a slow, deliberate tone. "I believe you are familiar with this…incident. One year ago, a man who held the post of Lieutenant came to me, no doubt, in hopes of furthering his career through easy means. He had acquired…information…through methods unknown, that had the potential to embarrass ShinRa." Zack quailed in his seat, knowing, as Sephiroth had known he would, full well of what he was talking about.

"Therefore…" Sephiroth's posture was languid, he might as well be talking about growing roses or the loveliness of the weather. "I killed him. Without question, or orders. Later, in the investigation, the President deemed my actions wise, and I was let off with a pardon." The emerald eyes stared at him, as still and frigid as the frozen surface of a pool in winter. And, like ice, Zack could not read what lay beneath the surface, but he could and did suspect the threat in the General's words. Inwardly, his soul shrank from the blistering, accusing look that his imagination lent to the General's steady gaze.

The General stood, rising to his full, imposing height. Zack felt small in his shadow as Sephiroth came around the table and stood over Zack. "I cannot touch you," The General said, his voice soft and dangerous. "The President has ordered it to be so." He bent nearer, and Zack almost pressed himself into the material of the chair to escape from that hot, burning glare. "Your transgressions annoy me, Donovan. Your little games likewise. I advise you not to test my patience further."

Zack could not speak, even if he wanted to. Fear froze his throat, cold sweat beaded his forehead at the sheer aura of the General. He managed a small, feeble nod.

Sephiroth straightened, moved away. Freed from the General's proximity, Zack was able to regain control of himself. Vaguely ashamed, and inwardly horrified at the way things have turned out, he stiffened his back and breathed deeply, slowly, in and out to calm his racing pulse.

_What the hell was that? _

The answer came back with disturbing swiftness. _I saw something…not quite…_

_Human._

The electrifying force Zack had sensed surrounding the man ebbed away, seeping back inside Sephiroth again, and it seemed to Zack that Sephiroth pulled in on himself, decreased slightly in size with no discernible change to the perpetual shroud of danger about him. The General nodded. "So that we understand each other. Return to your duties."

It took all of his ingrained discipline for Zack to head out at a normal pace. He only felt safe when he was on a lift bound for the ground floor and away from his General's office. He let his guard drop, held his head in his hands, released his pent-up breath in a shocked sigh.

_Your transgressions annoy me. Your little games likewise._

_It's not a game, _Zack wanted to say, to protest. _It's stopped being a game long ago. I wish that I could've continued hating you. I wish that I've never met you._

Blank-eyed, he exited and headed to the battle grounds. Akira took one look at him and demanded that he go back to his quarters and rest, an order that Zack gladly accepted. He opened the door to his dorm, and was pulling off his boots when a noise at the window made him sigh.

"What is it _now, _Reno?" He wearily shucked off one boot and tossed it into a corner.

"Got into a tight spot today, didn't you, Spikes?" Reno taunted. "Took the Boss-man to bail you out. The higher-ups, they _don't _ like mistakes too often if you get my meaning."

Zack irritably aimed a smelly sock at the red-haired Turk, sitting on the window sill like some innocuous bird. Reno deftly swiped it aside with a wave of his nightstick. "If that's all you came to say, Reno, then go away. I don't need to hear more hidden death threats."

Reno finally got a good look at Zack's face. "Jesus, man, you look like shit," he said with his usual brand of brute Reno honesty, somewhat refreshing considering the half-truths of typical ShinRa politics. Zack accepted this with a simple nod, too drained to challenge Reno with a sarcastic response. He considered offering an explanation, but realized that whatever he said to Reno here would be reported directly to his superiors…and while he liked Reno, he knew that he couldn't trust him. Any knowledge of Sephiroth's suspicion and he would become a liability. Zack knew this without a doubt, and he wished he didn't. It just went to show that he was changing, adapting himself to ShinRa's unforgiving hierarchy in order to survive. He didn't like to think that he was becoming more like Shinra day by day.

Awaiting a response that didn't come, Reno threw his hands up in disgust. "Forget it, then. I didn't just come to pay a social call, despite your tremendously attractive charms. I came for that report. Where's it? Don't tell me the dog ate it, Mr. Donovan."

"Don't worry, Reno, I did my homework like a good little boy." Zack didn't bother to hide the sarcastic lilt in his voice. Reno gave him a quizzical look as he got up and rummaged among the mess of papers that littered his desk: anxious, unopened letters from his parents, random scrawling, a few notes from Cloud, and miscellaneous items. He'd spent the longer part of last night compiling his thoughts and analysis, along with a mean little insult at the bottom aimed at Hojo. He hoped that Hojo would have the intelligence necessary to 'appreciate' the brilliant subtlety of his wit, but then again, he might not be an advanced enough lifeform to do so. Pity.

Reno was tapping his foot impatiently. He took the envelope from Zack and bared his teeth in a meat-eating smile. "See you around, Donovan." He winked, straightened his rumpled tie in an entirely useless gesture, and swung himself out…in broad daylight. Zack shook his head at the Turk's temerity as Reno descended the tree with the dexterity of a monkey. At Reno's request, he had been leaving the window open for the Turk's easy entry. In light of recent events, he now felt uneasy about this arrangement. He went over and locked the window, pressing his nose against the clear glass. If President Shinra were to order it…well, he had no doubt that Reno would kill him. Quick and easy, through the window, in his sleep…an in-and-out mission.

He didn't know who he could trust anymore, aside from Cloud and Aeris…the rest, even Akira, were all in the President's deep and cash-lined pocket, and would do anything to promote themselves…such was the nature of this dog-eat-dog world he lived in. But he was damned if he'd allow the power players of Midgar to drive him from a live he loved, even with all its stark flaws. Not the President, the Turks, or…the General. Nobody ordered Zachary Donovan around without serious regrets.

He smiled. A moment later, it slowly faded as his brief animation gave way to a flashback of the paralyzing fear he'd experienced in the General's office. It was a fear he did not understand; he'd faced close shaves with death before, and had come to terms with it. He was a soldier, death was an old friend he might brush up with every now and then, without warning. No, it was not the threat of death itself that had spooked him.

It was the _manner of death._

And Zack came to understand, truly and utterly for the first time, that he was way out of his depth…and there were sharks swimming in those depths. Cole had met with a horrible demise, it was a fate he did not wish to share. The General had been serious, dead serious, and he had made that promise with a certain relish.

_And I have to get close to him. It's like snuggling up to a poisonous reptile…inviting a Nibel dragon into your bed._

What had he done wrong? Zack wondered in despair. He'd been an exemplary soldier, disciplined, aside from the occasional practical joke, polite to his superiors (until lately, but who could blame him for that). Too good. He'd caught the President's eye, and now he had to be friends with a homicidal maniac who, rather than accepting his tentative advances, was irritated and rebuffed by him. Worse still, he was also experiencing guilt about the entire situation, and despite a little rational voice telling him that he was utterly crazy to feel that way about Sephiroth (_he's Sephiroth Mister Common Sense-less, he just threatened you with an untimely end and you still want to help him? You're _way _too soft, buster)_, he was determined to follow the course he had set.

The General had thought that Zack had been playing games with him, trying to make him vulnerable. Well, he was wrong. It was all too real, and Zack was aware that, unlike a game, there was no reset button or save game to bring him back to life. Yet, for the sake of his life and his conscience, he was going to do it, President Shinra be damned.

"I'm not doing it for _you,_" he told the empty air, suddenly recklessly bold. "I'm doing it for myself…and for him."

He shook his fist at an imaginary picture of the President and indulged in a second of profound silence. Then, without bothering to change out of his uniform, he sat down on the bed, collapsed backwards, and fell into a deep sleep.

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Author's Ending Note: 13/4/06: Whoa, it's been more than two months since I started this. Sorry to keep y'all waiting, folks! (to Magnum): Hey, I resent that. Just because I was too busy too tackle this before doesn't mean that I've given it up. Far from it. I just have a life separate from fanfiction. Until I specifically state that I'm discontinuing a story, I have a personal obligation to finish it. Just to make that clear.

Anyway, I was going to add an extra scene, but I was too lazy. (haha.) So Aeris will finally be making an appearance next chapter, Zack and the rest go on a real, live-fire mission, and some ominous implications are discussed concerning our main character. Stay tuned!

P.S. The 'sharks swimming in the depths' is a quote from John Constatine from the Sandman collection Preludes and Nocturnes. So no sueing please.

NEXT: CHAPTER NINE: **SOMEONE TO WATCH YOUR BACK.**

Coming soon (AHEM)…eventually, that is.

T. Axile.

…………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………


	9. Chapter 9: Someone To Watch Redux

Disclaimer: Own nothing, nothing as the eye can see, only this half-assed, nonexistent plot.

Author's Note: 18/11/06—I'm sorry, really sorry, gut-wrenchingly, kneeling-on-the-floor sorry. But to tell the truth, unlike my other stories, the first chapter of Alone was written on the spur of the moment, and so were the others since then. I just had a few random ideas that I threw into the mix now and then, but the truth is everything was all haphazard and unplanned. And now, after so many weeks, I've forgotten completely where I was going with the weird subplot Turk thing at the end of Nine. And Nine was written in a hurry too, can you tell?—so I'm going to rewrite Nine, I think I rushed their friendship too soon, it's all too horribly unlikely.

Now, even as I write the introduction, only a few vague ideas are swimming about, nothing concrete—I hope I can give you something, and frankly while this is one of my favorite ideas, it's also the hardest. It's so _hard _not to rush, like I did in Old Chapter Nine, so hard to keep everyone in character, which is why I kept procrastinating, until the exams came, the password went on, Death Note appeared in my life, and so on and so forth until it seemed things were conspiring to keep me from returning to fanfiction.

But now I'm back. And I hope I can give you a chapter as good as the previous ones. Thank you, Chayan-Amara, for your review that forced me to start feeling _really _guilty, and thank you, all you other readers and reviewers. (BTW, Chayan-Amara, I'm female, and no one I know wants to beta, or even likes fanfiction for that matter.) Now that I've gone on and on long enough. let's get to the story.

* * *

**FINAL FANTASY VII:**

**YOU DON'T HAVE TO WALK ALONE**

**CHAPTER NINE:**

**SOMEONE TO WATCH YOUR BACK**

* * *

_Someone to watch your back_

_In the dark places_

_Where men's hearts are black_

_Truth hidden behind lying faces_

_That's what I'm here for._

* * *

Over the next few days, Zack did his best to observe the General while surreptitiously avoiding him, still unaccountably shaken by the events of That Day. He only desisted when it became clear that Sephiroth was treating him the same as ever, a little aloof, a little cold, but still civil—almost too much so, whatever emotions he possessed to the contrary buried beneath that flat, emotionless mask he called an expression. 

Zack wondered, many times—what the man had to hide, to have practiced such a face that poker players would have given a fortune for. It unnerved him, every time he searched the carefully blank features (but not the eyes, never the eyes, which still frightened him) for the hint of homicidal intent that he _knew _had to be there. But the General never slipped, never cracked, and his true persona remained as veiled as ever, remaining the perfect soldier bound by the call of duty.

Only Zack had seen, that night in the elevator, a kink in that impenetrable armor and cool façade. Sephiroth could not be allowed to be weak, symbol of Midgar's steadfastness and strength that he was, but Zack had seen that as no other outsiders had. Sephiroth's origins remained a secret, nestled deep within the bowels of the archives, protected by layers of security and passwords like a precious treasure…or a potentially embarrassing disaster.

Zack, honestly, didn't know what to think. All he knew that he was committed, he was sorry for this perfect soldier, who seemingly had everything a man could desire (except friends…but does he need you? Does he really? Why are you bothering?), and that while Sephiroth was distant, he was never cruel, in the way that powerful men like Shinra could be carelessly cruel, tightening their holds over the poor and helpless with the tainted power only money could buy. (Just like his hold keeps Zack, watching and waiting in apprehension, both spy and helper. It's intolerable.)

It was about one and a half weeks later, on a Wednesday afternoon, when the General called for a meeting, bringing them together for the first time since Zack had joined their ranks. Akira looked inordinately pleased when the news was broken, and broke off his sparring match with Zack with little reluctance. "Good, I'm spoiling for a fight. Usually the higher-ups need us for some special operation or other, that's only when the General deigns to personally lead the mission, otherwise it's just sent through normal channels." The latter was in response to Zack's slightly quizzical look.

"Then it'll be Fort Condor," Zack predicted, a conviction that was shared in full strength by Akira. The Condor controversy had been covered intensively during his military training; the fact that Midgar had never been able to liberate Fort Condor of the prime piece of land it stood on was obviously still a sore point with the President. The men and women of Fort Condor were a ragtag bunch of war veterans, disillusioned ex-army members and fervent environmentalists, etc., of various nationalities and languages united first by their undeniable and combined dislike of the corpulent President of Midgar, and second by their desire to protect the giant Condor from harm. To Zack it was just a big bird, but to Fort Condor people it was almost a symbol, an enduring sign of how their resistance and endurance had so far won out against the spread of Midgarian ideals. Zack could almost respect that, if their vigilante methods of meting out retribution against the presence of ShinRa troops in their land had not lost him several friends and respectable leaders already.

Akira had a hard smile on his face; the thought had undoubtedly occurred to him too. "I guess it's time they got what they gave." The two showered and dressed quickly, neither eager to breach the ten-minute window Sephiroth had given them. They showed up at the meeting place to find that tall, gaunt Hailo Kurst was already there, staring out of the windows, and Shale bouncing around in one of the plush swivel chairs, childlike and excited. Kent Gregory, his nemesis, stood in the corner, hands buried deep in his pockets, eyes trained on the floor, his expression for once intent. There was an air of barely repressible eagerness as more and more SOLDIERs filed in, gradually filling the space with chatter and emotion.

But all that ceased as the General came on their heels like a forbidding specter, dressed as always in the uniform that he seemed to live in twenty-four hours a day. His eyes were black hollows beneath the sweeping curve of the white hair, and Zack could not read him at all. The SOLDIERs rose in a respectful silence that swelled with every breath; even Gregory dared not make a clatter.

Sephiroth came to the point without ceremony, opening the meeting with only a dip of the head that was the closest thing to a greeting for him. "As many of you have no doubt surmised," he said in his soft but authoritative manner, "Our objective is Fort Condor, which lies northeast from Midgar. We're going in to test their defenses, see how they've evolved since out last intrusion. Satellite coverage report new materials being brought in from the port city of Salient. It's not under Midgar's jurisdiction, so there's not much the President can do about that. But we can strike them hard before they stockpile." Sephiroth paused for a moment, presumably in case anyone wanted to say anything.

There was nothing, so he went on, "We'll leave tomorrow night on the _Pride of the Seas. _She'll take us to Junon, and we'll pick up our equipment there, so there is no need to bring anything extra to save space. From there on we're on our own. This is strictly hit-and-run, so the order to retreat takes priority." His eyes swept over the assembled SOLDIERs, and Zack forced himself to return the General's glinting gaze. "Report here by 1800 hours. All of you are to get yourselves checked up—" Here his lip curled—"at the lab to ensure that you are fit for thus mission, and after that, you're cleared for leave until we meet again." Never one for extended goodbyes, he vacated his seat and left the room to the assorted cheers and grumbles of the SOLDIERs.

Zack briefly contemplated whether to follow, and was indeed halfway out of his chair before he realized two things: one, that Akira was tugging on his arm and demanding that he join them for a night out, and two, that he had promised Aeris that he would visit her at the church. Feeling oddly relieved, and guiltily like a slacker, he fended off his friend, saying that he had a date on. On the threshold, he paused and stuck his head out, looking around, checking to make sure the coast was clear before stepping out into the corridor.

At least, he _thought _he was alone. He was abruptly amazed by the presence of his superior officer, as a shadow at the end of the passage stirred with a creak of leather and resolved into

Sephiroth. The man's green eyes glanced his way, and slid back again; as he turned it occurred to Zack that the General wanted to speak to him, and was expressing it in his usual uncommunicative manner. The memory of their last encounter still rankled in his mind, but clearly Zack had to be the one to take the step here, since the General sure as heck wasn't really going to care otherwise.

Behind Zack, SOLDIERs spilled out into the passage, laughing and joking, oblivious to the General's company. Zack felt rather than saw Sephiroth's shoulders stiffen, and the General began to move, his long legs soon carrying him out of sight. Zack only hesitated a second this time before making his decision. He headed through the door, keeping the General firmly within line of sight.

They ended up in the elevator together, and while Zack was glad this move afforded them some measure of privacy, he was also uncomfortably aware of the close confines of the lift, forcing him to dodge the heavy weight of the General's considering look by concentrating on the wall behind him. Casual glances wouldn't work in such a small space.

"I may have been too harsh," Sephiroth said, and Zack snapped his gaze to the man's face in wondering astonishment; had he heard right? He saw nothing but the old apathy and a hint of what might have been suppressed hostility, he couldn't tell. "I only meant to let you know there is a line to be crossed, and to be careful. I believe you were unnecessarily alarmed, though, and for that I apologize."

By this time Zack was certain his jaw was hitting the floor. _Never _in a million years would he imagine…the General would come up to him and _apologize, _of all things…His composure soon reasserted himself, and part of him even began to grow angry. _Too harsh?! You only meant to _let me know? _You were practically _threatening _me!_

He almost voiced it aloud, in much more explicit terms, but self-preservation kicked in instead. Unable to restrain a slight narrowing of his eyes, he said flatly, "I think I had a right to be scared off, sir."

To his surprise, Sephiroth nodded. "Donovan, if I thought otherwise…" He paused, and his mouth tightened. "I wouldn't be here wasting my time."

Zack backed off; it had suddenly occurred to him what an incredible concession it was, for the irascible, close-mouthed General to say such a thing. _Time-out, Donovan, you've gained some ground, now don't push your luck. _He couldn't resist one last question though, curiosity driving him on. "Why did you tell me this?"

The elevator was now on the second floor. The General flicked a quick look at the panel and was, briefly, silent as he contemplated. "I know what you're thinking, Donovan," he said at last. "Don't think it's for your sake. We need to work together—every one of us—if the mission is to succeed." He looked right at Zack, green eyes shining disturbingly in the shadow of his pale hair. "Trust is paramount in every unit, Donovan. You should know that."

The elevator dinged, and the doors opened, inviting back the sound of the outside world in a rush; the pseudo-sweet voices of the secretaries, ringing cell phones, and voices raised in complaint. Sephiroth did not spare a backwards glance as he moved forward. The suddenly subdued throng opened up for him, awed murmurs creating a subtle background of noise. Zack got barely a glance as he finally remembered how to move and stepped out in the wake of the General, walking slowly as he left the Headquarters.

* * *

Aeris' church was perched on the edge of the slums, and one of the lucky few buildings to know the touch of sunlight all the days in the year. It wasn't really _her _church per se, rather a dilapidated old ruin that had catered to the original inhabitants of the village that had been Midgar's humble roots. As the village had become a town and then a town and after that a huge sprawling city, the church had fallen into disrepair, and eventually abandoned to rot its last days away in dust and silence.

Aeris had loved it when she had first seen it (so she had told him) as a little girl curiously exploring her neighborhood. It was her sacred domain now. In the patch of sunlight that entered via the hole-ridden roof, she had grown her first garden, teasing tender green buds from the soil and nurturing them into flowers. They weren't the exotically beautiful (and expensive) sort that was sold in the posh shops in the upper-plate districts, but they were beautiful in their simplicity and hardiness. Perhaps it was the girl in the pink dress that made them so, who would squat in the dirt for hours on end to tend to her precious blooms and return home laughing and dirt-stained and wonderfully, miraculously happy, for the tiny lives that she loved and gathered to her bosom like children; hers, forever.

It was to the church Zack now went, hands tucked into his pockets and a tune on his lips. He had met Aeris a year ago and hadn't regretted it since. He had been initially drawn by her purity and her innocence—such a valuable commodity in Midgar!—and impressed enough by it to strike up a conversation. She soon proved his first impression wrong. She_ was _innocent and pure, but she also had a sly, wicked sense of humor that proved unexpectedly attractive. For a fresh young maiden, she knew how to wallop a man a good one if he proved too friendly for her liking. He'd seen too many victims of her naïve demeanor fall prey to her waiting staff and hobble away bruised both on their shins and in ego.

It was lucky enough for him Aeris had liked him too, and their first meeting cemented a friendship that eventually became a foundation for something more. Zack loved women and the fast life; he was handsome and charming and he knew it. He'd flirted, shopped around, but never really settled. His heart had always been his own.

Aeris had stolen it, with a single smile. He almost couldn't believe it. His idea of a perfect woman had been utterly and unabashedly unoriginal; beautiful, well-endowed, aggressive. Aeris was none of these things. It didn't matter, though, since his heart had already made up his mind for him before he could even think about it.

_Boy, am I well and truly hooked, _Zack thought ruefully, but without rancor. He deserved it, after doing the same to so many other women over his long and colorful career.

He entered through the open double doors, kicking up a storm of dust that swirled around and made him sneeze. Aeris was kneeling on the edge of the flowerbed, eyes closed and hands clasped. The sunlight that poured in gilded her slim frame with gold, and for a moment she looked transcendent, lifted; a perfect statue cast in precious metal.

Zack approached with deference. Even now there was aspects of her life she refused to discuss with him, such as the matter of her constant and fervent praying. Zack was of an agnostic mindset, but Aeris _believed_—whole-heartedly and seriously. She never told Zack who or what she prayed to, but maintained an almost secretive air on the whole thing.

Aeris lowered her hands a minute later, and glanced sideways to smile at him, her rich mahogany hair gleaming in the light. Her staff lay at her feet, and she used it to straighten, ramming the tip into the floor and standing. Zack closed the distance between them in three quick steps and wrapped his arms around her, breathing in the scent of her. Something warm and sweet, like hazelnuts and his mother's cooking, he'd always thought, in the privacy of his own mind.

"Is there something wrong?" she asked, leaning into him with a sigh. She folded her hands over his, resting the staff against her shoulder.

"How did you know?"

"For one thing, I can't breathe. Give me some room, you idiot." She said this with her usual lively air, and he meekly complied, releasing her with some reluctance. They took seats on the creaky wooden pews, and were silent, watching the dance of golden dust motes through the shafts of rays slanting in through the roof and glass windows, splashing mottled colors and images on the worn floor.

"Is it anything I can help with?" Aeris asked finally, lifting her head from where it rested on Zack's shoulder. "I've never known you to be so quiet before."

Zack rubbed the bridge of his nose. "Yes…I'm in a bit of a mess right now. I can't tell you anything—it's work-related, and then again, it's not." He sighed. "Basically, I'm trying to make a friend who doesn't want anything to do with me."

Aeris shrugged. "Maybe he just likes to be alone."

"No!" Zack said a little too quickly, and his girlfriend gave him a wide-eyed look of surprise. "That is, I _know _some things about him, and I think he could really use a friend. My problem is convincing him of this." He took a deep breath. "It's not his fault either. I used to dislike him a lot. I always thought he was so cold…then I found out why." He looked so miserable that Aeris wrapped her arms around him, considering. "What've you tried so far?"

"Well…talking to him, letting him know of my existence. It's not working," Zack said, frustrated. "He thinks that I'm just a big fake. And, truthfully…" He spread his fingers out and studied them, avoiding Aeris' gaze. "That was how it all started."

"Not everything we do anything about can be changed," Aeris said, her breath warm on his cheek. "But nothing will be changed for sure if you don't do anything about it." Her hands closed over his reassuringly, delicate but callused. "Zack," she whispered. "I believe you can do it."

He gave her a dubious look. "You really think so?"

In response, she gave him the sweetest, brightest smile he'd ever seen. "Zack—I have the _best _taste in men."

(_end **Chapter Nine)**_

* * *

A Word From the Author: 21/11/06: Done! Hurrah! Once again I spent the better part of the day struggling through the Aeris characterization, struggling through the Seph-Zack conversation (I just shamelessly stole the meeting part from the old Chapter Nine because I was that damn lazy and I wanted to finish this as soon as possible.) Hope you liked this better, and that it makes up (never) for all those months of waiting (and wanting to toss something sharp at me, probably. :cringes:)

Next: CHAPTER TEN: **NEITHER BENEATH NOR BEYOND**

Yours, T. Axile.

* * *


	10. Chapter 10: Neither Beneath Nor Beyond

**FINAL FANTASY VII:**

**YOU DON'T HAVE TO WALK ALONE**

**CHAPTER TEN:**

**NEITHER BENEATH NOR BEYOND**

* * *

_Nothing I can do for you, my friend_

_Is beneath or beyond the bonds that bind us_

_From the easy beginning to the bitter end_

_Witnessed by the impartial sun and the knowing stars._

* * *

Two days later, the _Pride of the Seas _set sail, with various SOLDIERs leaning precariously off the railing and waving to their friends. Zack would have liked to see Aeris' smiling face amidst all the faces and cries of goodwill, but the military area was off-limits to civilians. He _had _managed to see Cloud, though, his yellow hair a bright beacon amidst all the blue and black uniforms, before he was swallowed up by the crowd. Zack hoped with all his heart that Cloud would be okay without him to keep the bullies at bay. 

Soon, however, the chatter died off, and the soft whispering sounds of the wind and waves dominated the scene. Zack tilted his head backwards, staring at the sky, and hastily straightened as the ship rode a rough wave and sea spray, shockingly salty, fell on his face and lips. Most of the SOLDIERs had gone below deck—Zack had seen Akira flourishing a deck of cards—but the anti-social Kurst was still up there with him, though about five feet away, staring at the white-foamed waves with the same intensity he accorded to everything, and a SOLDIER from another squad—Evain Tenvell, he vaguely remembered— slumped against the railing asleep with a true soldier's ease; he didn't stir, even when the ship lurched again and he slumped forward even more.

Zack decided, then, to get to know his team mates better, though he had left it a bit late; after all, they were soon going to be fighting side by side, and it was always good to have someone whom you could trust at your back. He edged along the railing, carefully stepping around the slumbering Tenvell, and approached Kurst. The tall, tan SOLDIER shifted, sensing his presence, and turned black, deepset eyes on him. Other than that, he gave no acknowledgement of Zack's sudden company. It occurred to Zack that he had rarely heard Kurst speak, even in social gatherings; though he was usually present, it appeared he went there only to have a quiet drink, listen to the talk, and go home.

"Nice to see some blue sky for once, isn't it?" Zack remarked, indicating the sky with a flip of his head. It _was_ a really nice day—the breeze was cool, the clouds were cotton-fluffy white, and the sunlight flashed off the silver glistening bodies of fish leaping in the wake of the ship.

"Yes," said Kurst, and it was the first time Zack had really listened to him, all grunts and noncommittal one-syllable words. His voice was deep and gravelly, running down into the bass range. "It is."

And that appeared to be it. Since this conversation was turning out, as usual, to be the sort that would only get anywhere with his more-than-active participation, Zack chattered on, "So, how long have you been a SOLDIER 1st? Akira's team seems pretty tight-knit; you guys move as though you've been bonded at the hip since childhood. I almost feel as though I'm an intruder."

"No," Kurst said, and his eyes shifted to Zack, oddly intent, with the strangest expression on his face. It looked like a cross between interest and resentment. "The General values you."

Zack could almost have laughed at that, if he hadn't felt suddenly uneasy, as though Kurst's assessment carried some deeper meaning he should be wary of. "The General values any good soldier who can walk and bear weapons," he said lightly to cover his tension. "Besides, I probably give him more lip than any other man under his command. I doubt there's any special significance in his _value_."

"You don't watch," Kurst intoned in his dead monotone. "I do. And so do others." He hesitated, as though realizing that he had exceeded than his daily quota of words, and wondering whether he should walk away. Zack hastily seized on the pause and Kurst's arm and asked, "What do you see?"

"You make him think," said Kurst reluctantly. "No one else has ever tried that before." He thought for a while and amended, "No one living."

"So?" Zack released Kurst's arm, inexplicably and abruptly annoyed. "What's the big deal about…being friendly, showing some camaraderie, that sort of thing? I mean…well, I'm talking to you, aren't I?"

"I am alone because I choose to," said Kurst. "Perhaps the General is not too different…in any case, there is much jealousy in the army, and there is some doubt over your promotion. People talk…and watch."

Zack had never heard Kurst say so much in one go before. Before he could hope he might be a positive influence on the man, Kurst continued, contemplatively, "You're different, Donovan. People don't like things that are different. But we _do _like and respect the General, and you…might be a threat."

"I respect the General too," Zack said, his annoyance intensifying. "I want what's best for him." But his insides squirmed uncomfortably as he spoke, and he could not look Hailo Kurst in the eye.

"Do you?" Kurst hunched down, turning his gaze back to the churning water. "I am alone because I choose to be so," he repeated. "What about the General? Did you think you alone were the first to offer more than the trust of a comrade?"

When the _Pride_ docked at Junon some time later, Zack was still thinking about Kurst's words. Evain Tenvell had interrupted their engrossing conversation with his sudden awakening, and Kurst had reverted to his lamppost personality. After that Zack had spoken a little of home, and Kurst had revealed that his home was Junon and this was the first time he had been here since he'd left. But there would be no more confidences from Kurst; his final manner had made this very plain.

So…a threat, huh? Zack mused. That explained Akira's odd manner every time he'd ended up having a sort of heart-to-heart talk, or at least one-sided veiled threats, which was the sign that he'd touched some sort of nerve in the General. He realized then that he had overestimated Sephiroth's isolation—it wasn't that everyone shunned him, in fact, quite a number of his men did like him, for many of them had served with the General in the Wutai war. Trust that was forged with iron and blood and death was the hardest to break of all. He thought, too, of Cloud's unconditional adoration for the war hero he'd never met, and felt that he might understand a little. Sephiroth was a lofty ideal, the perfect soldier, the very embodiment of patriotism and courage and skill. To be like him was the idea attainment, and after that there could be nothing more to gain.

But Sephiroth shunned everyone instead. Cold, calculating individuals could still be admired, however, especially with that veneer of mystery that could never be pierced…but what if someone came along and upset that delicate equilibrium of comradeship and aloofness? Someone like him, in fact? Kurst had been trying to warn him that there might be others who would prefer to see Sephiroth remain perched on his unreachable pedestal and to bask in the light of his shared glory. Sephiroth was cold, but he treated everyone coldly, so that was okay. Equality for everyone, right? It was unthinkable for anyone to want more—that would mar the perfection, tip the balance…

"Damn the President," he whispered, understanding suddenly the sheer magnitude of his task. Aside from winning Sephiroth over, which was already in itself a feat of mighty proportions, he had to win his own comrades over. Comrades he was going to be fighting alongside with in a few days, and whom he only half-knew and half-trusted. They were going to regard him the same way, he knew. If there was going to be any reliable trust he could gain, it was in their first battle together…he swore in irritation and some fear, and got a look from Leonard Marling, who was fanning himself with his free hand; in the other he held a pike that was half again as tall as himself. "It's stinks even worse than before," he said bitterly, to Shale Turner, and spat on the ground.

Junon had indeed gotten worse—on the ground, anyway, where there were no training grounds or bases and thus no one that bothered, except the original inhabitants, who had no money or influence, and thus no voices. They lived in a sort of bewildered nightmare with no ending or escape, watching the not-old die in fits of coughing brought on by poisoned lungs, with a sort of helpless anger that was repressed by years of fear and silence. They said that once the beaches were as golden as Costa del Sol's, and the waves bluer, and the dolphins were so friendly you could wade right up to one and pat it on the nose. That was before the President of Midgar had thought it might be a strategic base, and built above it a fantastical technological monster-marvel of steel and teeth and awe, and the townspeople were left to wallow below in its fumes and waste, creating a sort of Midgar slum, version two. As the SOLDIERs filed through the dying town in silence, breathing as little of the burning air as possible, a little girl ran past them, her red dress a splotch of bright color against the gray—but Zack couldn't help but notice the thinness of her face and the dulled luster of her eyes, and bit back a feeling of irrational guilt.

Akira gripped his shoulder and gently steered him back in line with the rest of the group; he hadn't realized that he had been absently changing his path to mirror that of the girl's, as though to—what? Offer help? He shook the ludicrous notion out of his mind and got into the lift with Akira's crowd. It rose smoothly, bearing them away from the filth on the ground, and he got the sudden nonsensical notion that it was bearing them away from hell, and to the clean air and light up above. Akira began talking loudly about the Junon nightclubs, for Kurst and Marling were both standing together with gloomy expressions, closer briefly for the comfort of shared misery. _I came from Junon, _Kurst had said, and Zack knew that it must have the Junon Below, different enough from Above to warrant the capital letters.

The lift opened, and the SOLDIERs crowded out, glad to leave the cramped confines, and stepped onto the steel pavement. Akira led them to their designated locker room, while behind them the lift hut and ground its long journey back down for the next group of waiting SOLDIERs. "We'll be staying here for two nights, and for the Planet's sake DO NOT get plastered. Even if you have Mako-enhanced livers. During that time the _Pride _will be getting refuelled, the rest of the SOLDIERs will be getting into position and we'll be getting loads of fun new toys to try out, courtesy of the Science Department…"

There were some groans and cheers, and Turner piped out, "Will they do more damage to us or the enemy, sir?"

"_Mostly _the enemy," Akira said with a good-natured grin. "This is all I know for now, but I'll be getting more details at the briefing at, oh, right now." He sighed. "I'll have to get changed into that fancy dress uniform to impress the higher-ups, and the quartermaster has kindly supplied all of us platoon leaders with the required outfits, in case we 'forgot' them at home…"

There were groans of mock sympathy. SOLDIERs had military standards to conform to, and thus the dress uniform and field uniform were born. Field uniforms were fine. SOLDIERs, being largely invincible, had taken creative liberties with their armor, which was why Zack wore only one shoulder guard into battle because he thought it looked cooler, not because it made sense. If Sephiroth did it, his men didn't see why they couldn't—though of course the General wouldn't need armor, formidable as he was. The military higher-ups largely turned a blind eye to this because it improved morale, especially during battles where the lamest joke was celebrated as the biggest comical feat ever. There was no escaping the dress uniform though, especially since so much leeway had already been given to field attire. It was a stiff, starched thing, white with brass buttons and embroidery along the hem and cuffs. Akira gave them a mournful face and told them to return in three hours, if they were going to be leaving the barracks.

The four remaining SOLDIERs looked at each other as Akira left, walking stiffly, as though he had a bomb between his knees. "You've been to Junon before for training, right?" Marling asked Zack, setting his pike against the wall. "You must know the best place to hang out at."

Zack scratched his head. "If things haven't changed…"

Kurst shook his head. "Do what you like. I'm going Below." Without a further word, he made for the door and disappeared rapidly along the corridor. Turner watched with a puzzled face. "What's with that guy?"

"He says he came from Junon," Zack said.

"So do I, and I don't weep too many buckets over it," Marling said curtly. "Well?" It was a moment before Zack realized that he was dismissing Kurst and was returning to their previous topic.

"If you'll follow me…" he said.

* * *

Despite Akira's instructions, Marling was soon drinking amounts that could probably kill a baby whale. Zack was impressed by his ability to remain upright and coherent, showing no signs of drunkenness other than a slight slurring of the speech. Turner caught Zack's eye and grinned apologetically. "Leonard has many things to forget about," he said by way of explanation. 

"Yeah," Marling said, his previous impassiveness turning into an almost comical gloom. He stared into the bottom of his empty glass as though it was the end of the world, and Turner gently took it away and refilled it. "'Rything's gone to pot. Nothing left but bars." He took a long swig that must have burnt his throat like hell, but he did not seem to feel it.

"You know, Akira said—" Zack began, feeling a little like a partypooper. But he didn't want Marling to get into trouble. The man just snorted. "No right to tell me what to do," he said sulkily, prodding at his glass with a long finger. "Only been leader for, for less than two months. No _history."_

"That short?" Zack said, surprised. "He seems like he's been in that post forever."

"He's really friendly," Turner said, reaching for the bottle. "Our last leader died in an accident, so Akira showed up to replace him, and once we got to know Akira it was fine. We SOLDIERs know how to work together, _right, Leonard? _But yeah, he only joined us two weeks before you arrived."

There was a brief pause filled by a low hum as Marling absently ran his wet finger around the rim of his glass, eyes unfocused. Turner was watching his friend with a look of concern; that expression looked as though it had long ago been welded onto his face. "I think that's enough," he said firmly, pushing the bottle to the other side of the table. Marling only made a faint "Huh" sound of protest, but made no move to reclaim his alcohol.

"I wonder why Sephiroth couldn't come with us," Zack muttered, looking around. His enhanced eyes pierced the darkness easily, and he could see several faintly recognizable faces scattered here and there. He'd just taken one step nearer to the strange General, and he was afraid that time might eradicate his progress.

"He was ordered _not _to." Marling sat up straight, ignoring Turner's eye roll and murmur of "Here he goes again…"

"What?" Zack raised an eyebrow. "ShinRa's greatest SOLDIER, and they won't send him out? He'll decimate the Condors!"

"Spot on," Marling declared. "But the government is in so much shit that it's up to their necks, and they don't want any complaints. Then, conveniently, there's this little rebellion over there at Salient which they can point their fingers at and say, "There's the guy that's causing all the problems!" It needs to look good! It needs a reason for _us." _He pointed at himself.

Turner put his head into his hands. "If you _must _pontificate, please lower your voice, Leonard," he groaned.

Marling ignored this. "The wars are over! Shinra's at the top of the world! Why need Mako-enhanced SOLDIERs! Thank you, Fort Condor, for stepping up. So no pressure in two days' time, folks. It's fine to win, it's better to lose. That's why the General can't come."

"The General is a symbol of hope to the people of Midgar," Turner said, strain in his voice. "The ShinRa government is being overcautious, that's all, they think they might lose him."

"He's a SOLDIER, like the rest of us," Marling said to the table, drawing smudgy pictures on the battered wood with his finger. "A bullet wound's just a scratch."

"Please, watch your tongue," Turner pleaded, and Zack thought that there was more than concern in his voice; there was also fear. "The walls have ears, and, you don't want…" He couldn't finish the sentence.

"Life is too long," Marling said, and was asleep almost before he finished the sentence, his head hitting the table and knocking over the empty glass. Turner gave Zack a little helpless smile, and together the two of them hauled him out bodily through the street. The bartender did not do much more than raise an eyebrow as they staggered past with their burden.

* * *

Akira was far from pleased when he came back from the briefing and found Marling knocked out. "That joker, and whoever didn't stop him, will get janitor duty when we get back to Midgar," he growled, and Turner and Zack looked at each other sheepishly. "Alright, someone will just have to tell him what's going on later, I want this to sink into your brains." 

"Okay, so far over the last week SOLDIERs have been ferried, sometimes secretly, all over the continent…there're currently about thirty SOLDIERs, 1st Class, positioned in Junon. I don't know where the rest are, and I don't want to know. Each platoon leader only knows what his team is going to do, so that if spies get wind of it, they won't be ambushing every single one of us. We'll be going this together with Frey Hassway's group."

"We'll be escorting a high-level officer to Mideel to discuss the plans for building a reactor there with the mayor. This has happened before, since there really _is _something in the works, but obviously this time it's just a ruse. The officer in question is Karl Veheim, the General's aide, so he had _better not be killed._" This was in response to gasps at the mention of Veheim's name.

"The usual route that the entourage takes is almost due east, along the Mythril Mine, and on to the port city of Salient. Their ships still take us to Mideel, as long as we pay good coin. The rest of the route doesn't concern us, so I won't discuss that. What will happen is that as we approach Fort Condor we'll slow down, since one of us will have broken his leg during a fight with a monster. But we'll continue moving, since the Condors have the advantage of height and they'll find it suspicious of we linger too long on enemy land. Then when the signal comes we'll drop everything—except our weapons—and charge like heck."

"Er," a SOLDIER from the other group said. "Won't we be shot down when we do that?"

"The signal is also a distraction," Akira said. "One of the primary objectives of the mission, though unofficial, is to kill the giant condors. This does not concern us, but the aerial attack will be doing their best to finish off the condors, the fort will try to protect them…and we'll be swarming up from the ground. Thanks to Scarlet, we now have the world's first stealth machine…the first shot fired will be the signal."

He snapped his file shut, and looked around the room, searchingly. "Any more questions?" When no one felt compelled to raise their hands, his face cleared and he smiled. "There you go. If you have any comments to relay to me in private, you have my PHS number. Get some sleep, now. And please, if any of you get drunk I'll have to ban you from leaving the barracks, and I'm sure you don't want that. Good night!"

_(end __**Chapter Ten**)_

* * *

A Word From the Author: 23/9/07: What's this? Ten months already? Argh!!! Ten months, and I only start writing now, in the middle of my final exams. It's funny—suddenly I started writing and planning last night, and now I more or less have the story planned out. Oh well, as the Patrician said, if you want something done, you'll have to give it to someone who's busy (and who doesn't want to do what she's doing currently). Anyway, thanks to y'all for your reviews and for making me feel wanted, thanks to Square Enix for Crisis Core, which I suspect had some motivating factor in reminding me of FFVII's existence, though I probably won't be getting a PSP, much less CC, any time this century. :weeps: Thanks also to XD for that CC game blog, which helped me love Zack again. Hope to be writing the Word for Chapter 11 soon! See ya! 

Next: CHAPTER ELEVEN: **FLIGHT OF THE CONDOR**

Yours, T. Axile.

* * *


	11. Chapter 11: Flight of the Condor

**FINAL FANTASY VII:**

**YOU DON'T HAVE TO WALK ALONE**

**CHAPTER ELEVEN:**

**FLIGHT OF THE CONDOR**

* * *

_The condor is not forced—it chooses_

_The condor is not bound—it flies_

_The condor that is forced only fears_

_And the condor bound is one that dies._

* * *

The first part of the mission went smoothly as planned. Despite his underlying eagerness to engage with the enemy, Zack's mood was largely subdued as he trailed behind the rest of his party, having been appointed as rear guard. He had to wrench his mind off his thoughts more than one time to focus on the job he had been assigned. 

He wasn't the only one. A pervading uneasiness had infected the mood of the entire squad, starting from this morning, when they had woken up unreasonably early to a shouting match between Akira and Marling, on the general theme of derogatory name-calling and "Who died and made you God?" mostly from Marling, while Akira threatened first kitchen duty and increasingly worse and unusual punishments. Zack glanced ahead at Marling's bowed back and deliberate, heavy steps, and uncharitably hoped that he was having a hell of a hangover.

It had been an hour since they had left the last outpost before Fort Condor, leaving behind the 'planes that had brought them out from Junon, since the Condor resistance had made it clear that they would shoot down any flying machines invading their territory on sight. They were fiercely protective of their feathered mascots. Veheim had, naturally, as a high-ranking officer, appropriated a vehicle for himself, around which ten SOLDIERs marched, their movements blurring and the air around them rippling oddly due to the effect of the high-level Haste cast on themselves. A huge iridescent bubble—Shield—mostly invisible except for glimmers of deep greens and blues where the waning afternoon light struck it, encased the guard party up to a radius of a metre. The Condor resistance members would be watching them—and no one wanted them taking potshots at one of the most wanted men on their hit list.

Now and then, movement on the horizon drew Zack's eye and brought the rest of his body spinning around, only to be confronted by curious animals. Some of them were more openly hostile, and it took one or two warning swipes from the Buster Sword to get them to back off. Sometimes it took more than that, when hunger overcame caution. After a while Zack almost came to look forward to these infrequent fights, brief as they were, which at least dispelled some of the monotony of the trek.

As the afternoon wore on, the sunlight grew languorous and golden, slanting steeply across the dry yellow grass to create a shifting pattern of light and shadow. The bite of autumn lingered in the air, the sun's warmth only distantly felt. Zack grew edgier as the appointed time inched nearer, and in response, the Mako in his veins reacted. The sharpness of his vision slipped up a notch, and his breathing sounded unnaturally loud in his ears.

Suddenly, the convoy in front ground to a halt—stumbling at first, in surprise, before discipline took over. Zack drew his blade and ran forward, his boots pounding at the ground. The advance party had returned. They were shouting, and his enhanced hearing picked up every word. "A group of monsters gathering right in our path! Prepare for battle!"

There was it: the signal. Zack let out a sigh almost of relief, but the tension failed to completely leave his body. This was only the easy part. Fighting Manipulated enemies, no matter what the number, was hardly a challenge. For caution's sake, he cast a weak Barrier around himself, green sparks flashing up and down the length of his arms as the spell took effect. As a group of Hell Riders, Formulas and any creature that the advance guard had managed to secretly Manipulate broke the horizon, Zack fell back into the formation that he and his squad had practiced for so long, and the other squad accompanying them on the ruse did the same only a moment behind. Veheim leaped agilely over the door of the jeep, armed with a heavy-duty machine gun that seemed almost too big for his stick-thin figure. He crouched behind the jeep, as the squads took up a defensive position around him.

The first wave of monsters hit. Zack fended away a hissing lizard the size of an Alsatian and studded over with more spikes than your average teen groupie. Mindlessly it sought to bite him, its eyes blanked by the Control spell that had overwhelmed its tiny mind, leaving its reflexes stiff and mechanical. Zack put an end to its misery swiftly, just in time to leap away from a huge blue bird that dove at him, shrieking at a pitch that made his sensitive ears hurt. He was slightly too slow in raising the Buster Sword as it came around at him a second time, but the Barrier easily repelled it long enough for him to cut off a wing. It screamed and thrashed on its way down to earth, where it died without further fuss.

Killing the monsters was as tedious as he had feared. After a while, the rise and fall of his sword arm became more instinct than thought, and hot bloody parts stifled the brown grass about his feet. Finally a burst from Veheim's gun dropped the last of the survivors to the ground, twitching and spewing fluids over the nearest resigned soldier. Wiping the Buster Sword clean on his pant leg, Zack stood still for a few seconds, letting the Mako in his system do its work. Within that time, a few minor cuts had scabbed over, and a tingling sensation was dancing through his limbs, clearing some of the numbness from his mind.

A few people had slightly less superficial injuries, mostly deliberately sustained—such as in the case of Hailo Kurst, who had broken a leg when he had stepped backwards on a slew of monster guts. For a SOLDIER such an injury was nothing, or would be nothing in a few hours. Until then, the power of a green material restored Kurst to his feet, and since the jeep was damaged and could only be repaired with adequate tools, which they lacked, it meant walking all the way. As Akira had hoped, this slowed them down substantially, which meant that the party was still limping along when darkness fell in the late afternoon.

To the right, rendered a child's model by distance, Zack could see the faint outline of Fort Condor, with the distinctive condor silhouette crowning the top. If he squinted he thought he could see another huge, feathered shape, sailing with quiet dignity through the blue-black sky away to the distant mountains. As Zack gazed upon the quiet scene, he admired the sleek lines of the giant condor and thought it a pity that such magnificent creatures should have been turned into a political symbol. Still, if their deaths would demoralize the resistance and save more lives, he was all for it.

A thunderous crack jerked him from his thoughts, and for a split moment Fort Condor was painted white against the dark landscape. "Free-for-all," Veheim shouted, and in an instant the SOLDIERs were divesting themselves of packs and rolls, shrugging them off their shoulders as they ran, red streaks of Haste burning the ground beneath their feet. Zack only hesitated a moment before he joined them, the wind stinging his face and for once taming the unruly spikes of his hair. The squad stayed together, their fingers touching. Even Kurst had refused to be left behind, despite his injury; a carefully controlled Tornado spell bore him along gently, his feet trailing against the grass. The green Materia glowed brightly from its setting in the antique revolver he always carried, giving his face a sickly cast.

It was chaos. Rising above the tumult of bullet-cracks was the keening of the condors, high and terrible with fear. The Resistance spilled out from their base in a sea of khakis and blacks, their eyes hard with determination beneath dark bandanas. Some had a rough picture of the giant condor daubed on an entire side of their face in paint, giving them a strange, alien appearance. They met head-on with the SOLDIERs, and then the waves merged together into a crazily swirling sea. At first they were more or less even, until the SOLDIERs pushed closer to the fort and canny snipers cast DeBarrier and aimed in tandem. The Resistance had the advantage of height and home ground; there was no denying that. More than one SOLDIER stumbled into a rut into the ground, only to be attacked viciously by an opportunistic Resistance member.

Buffeted in a sea of seething bodies, Zack struggled to keep his footing as he faced off with a girl who was at least two years his junior, wearing an expression of contempt that made those young features very old. It was the fight he had been spoiling for all day, and he attacked with an aggressiveness that matched the boiling anger in his gut. It wasn't as though ShinRa was perfect, or always right; but training youths to grow up and get killed definitely wasn't right either. He felt a brief flash of pity, but he was in battle mode now, and could afford little time for sentiment. It was that ancient law: _kill or be killed. _Humans weren't that far off from animals when it came down to survival.

He killed her eventually, a brief touch of a thumb against his Lightning materia sending convulsions through her body that let her unable to defend as he cut her throat. He moved on. She was a soldier too; she understood. Far above dazzling streams of illumination cut away the night, and one of the aerial 'planes exploded in a fiery ball, dripping red-hot metal like bloody insides. Somebody shouted a warning, and the sea broke up into smaller tussles. Small fires rained down around them, lighting the dry grass. Zack stamped on one such tiny flame as it lit up near his foot. The last thing they needed was the whole grassland burning up like a can of oil—and them with it.

A scream of rage split the air, harsh and raucous, but by then Zack was engaged in another fight and didn't dare look. Brilliant flashes of light blinked on and off at the sides of his vision, and he was hard pressed to focus on the moves of his opponent. The air stank of raw, oily ozone, as spells fired off in a torrent without care of magical burnout. The Resistance member hurled a palmful of fire at his face; Zack threw up a thin shield of ice that served to cancel out both spells as the fire dissipated and the ice evaporated. The enemy's sword hilt was mostly empty, but what materia he did have, he wielded with ease and skill. Zack attempted a sealing spell, but the other man's innate resistance caused it to bounce off harmlessly. Sensing the lull in aggressiveness, the Resistance member pressed his attack, which Zack barely blocked. The poor angle of the Buster Sword caused jarring all the way down his arm, which proceeded to go numb.

Swearing quietly under his breath, Zack backed off, switching the Buster Sword to his other hand. He wasn't so proficient left-handed, and magic wasn't exactly his forte. His only advantage was that he had a fuller range of options than the other man did when it came to magic. They clashed blades again, struggling together. Zack lowered his head and smashed his skull against his opponent's nose. The man staggered back, expression outraged, blood streaming from his nostrils. Zack hastily raised a Shield, and then an Ice spell that trailed white crystals in its wake. Predictably, the Resistance member responded with a Fire spell, and failed to be prepared when the ground moved under his feet, thanks to Zack's Earth materia. This spell took more effort to maintain; Zack was already feeling the effects of burnout creeping over him. With an effort he forced his shaking hands to be still, wrapping them firmly around the hilt of the Buster Sword. The Resistance member had stumbled back briefly, and already recovering, held his blade out in anticipation. Zack struck—held back, and put his lightning-crackling hand on the sword, pushing it back into the man's face.

The man screamed, or tried to, as his jaw muscles locked and shook. Zack kept a fast hold on the blade and shoved the Buster Sword through his heart. He held on until the man's final spasm died away and the body was still. He moved slower, weighed down by a lurking lethargy at the edge of realization. Standing in a tremulous pool of calm, he finally gave in to his curiosity and flicked his eyes upwards, swiftly.

He would never forget what he saw—the sublime beauty of self-sacrifice, from a creature that was both less and more than human. The giant condor—the one that had flown off, earlier—hovered protectively in front of its mate, and as he watched, it wrapped its long wings almost lovingly around the last remaining 'plane and fell. Its body shuddered as the 'plane trapped in its embrace fired and fired again. Finally, the broken, bleeding body peeled away, and the 'plane sought to pull off from its fatal flight, too late—its nose ground into the earth, and the rest of the metal body crumpled up after it. The condor's limp body followed moments later, and bloodied feathers curled lazily in the air, marking its final resting place.

The Resistance was, momentarily, forgotten. Frantically Ice spells were woven and cast on the glowing 'plane, evaporating almost instantly in the heat. Someone had managed to get hold of a highly coveted Contain materia, and with its help, the 'plane was soon encased in a glittering structure. Eddies of fighting still went on, around the massive corpse of the golden condor, second of its kind. High above the surviving condor wailed a song of grief, its wings stretched to its full length. Rather than being demoralized, the Resistance seemed inspired, drunk with their own determination to die for their cause, as their mascot had died. Zack, with great reluctance, utilized a Restore materia, gasping as his head buzzed and his vision snapped back into focus. He was going to have a terrible hangover afterwards—_if_he survived.

A SOLDIER brushed past him, locked in fierce fighting with a Condor supporter. Belatedly he recognized the SOLDIER as Akira, his delicate Wutaian features rigid with concentration. Since he seemed to be holding his own, Zack turned away, Buster Sword at the ready. His right arm was throbbing, but that at least meant he was getting feeling back, if at a frustratingly slow pace.

A figure sprang up at him, abruptly, from the grass. He' d mistaken it for yet another one of the many bodies, and he cursed his own carelessness as the figure advanced, his face blackened with soot. Zack paused, struck with a sudden sense of wrongness. He'd seen this stilted movement somewhere before…just…now…or perhaps it was just injury, that had driven this man mad. His eyes glittered strangely in the blackness of his mask.

The figure lunged forward, abruptly, lips drawn back, and again Zack had an itchy feeling of discomfort, a sense of acute familiarity that made him hesitate and cry out in warning. But it was too late anyway, because the madman had just impaled himself on the Buster Sword. At the last moment he looked up, and it was as though a veil had been drawn away, revealing a slowly unfolding horror…that went dead as the head slumped forward, the body sagging, dragging the Buster Sword down and to the side.

"Ifrit's bloody hells," Zack muttered, an echo of that horror awakening within him. He dropped to the ground, curling himself over the man he'd just killed, making himself as small and inconspicuous as possible. His fingers trembled as he wiped the concealing soot from the man's face, away from the narrow eyes and small, disapproving mouth. An electric shock ran through his limbs, and by instinct his eyes went up and to the sides, scanning his surroundings furtively. Like a thief, a murderer—the murderer that he was. In stunned terror Zack leaned back and surveyed the frozen features of Karl Veheim, the General's aide, and felt the world fall away from under his feet.

* * *

Despite their best efforts, the grassland had ended up in danger of burning after all, and under a flag of truce Lieutenant General Coulter of SOLDIER and Commander Laine of the Resistance agreed to cease hostilities—for now. Despite the withdrawal, the mission was still viewed as a success overall, for, as Turner put it, "We managed to nail one of those feathered bastards, and many more of the human bastards." Zack could only manage a weak smile before turning his eyes back on the bloody Buster Sword. He could not believe what he had done.

His memory tugged at him again, elusive and on the edge of remembrance. Worry and guilt made him grit his teeth in frustration. He gnawed at a ragged fingernail, until he realized that Akira was watching him closely, a strange expression in his dark eyes. Zack swiftly lowered his hand and mustered up a cheerful smile. It faltered as Akira said softly, "The mission was a success—but not for us. We were supposed to protect Veheim with our lives, and we failed." The words were aimed at the squad in general, quickly punctuating the semi-jubilant mood. Yet Zack felt that the words were directed at him in particular. _How much do you know? _He wanted to ask, but his tongue stayed glued to the roof of his mouth, and instead he avoided Akira's cool, somehow _knowing_gaze.

_I'll confess, _he thought bitterly. _I'll have to. _He had entertained a brief hope that his unique role as the President's spy might protect him, but he had quickly dismissed it, angry that he had even considered such an immoral thing. It might be an accident—his gut twisted uneasily—but Karl Veheim was no small fry, and the President would have to accommodate his friends or be weakened thereby. Zack Donovan _was_small fry, in the greater scheme of things. Another errand boy could be procured.

He dozed off soon after they reached the outpost and the waiting transport, and for some reason his dreams were populated by stiff-gaited zombies with glassy, golden materia for eyes, reaching out to him, for him, he didn't know. Karl Veheim smiled a ghastly red smile, and fell to pieces at Zack's feet, and behind, revealed by Veheim's collapse, Akira frowned and said, "I know you did it." Bending down, he gouged the glowing, golden materia from Veheim's eye sockets, and held them to the light—the light fractured, magnified and boring into Zack's brain—

"Wake up," the real Akira said into Zack's ear, and he did, jerking upright and gazing through the canopy at the gray landscape of Junon, as the 'plane swept down in wide, shrinking circles. Bleakly he shut his eyes, marshaling his courage, as the landing pad approached.

"Akira—" he said.

His squad leader looked at him through hooded eyes, and Zack had the sudden, unwelcome sense that a stranger was looking out through those familiar eyes at him. His words dried up in his throat as he recognized the expression for what it was—a subtle, sneering contempt, mixed with some nameless seething emotion. "I saw," Akira said, nearly without voice. "I saw everything."

"You don't understand," Zack insisted, but the 'plane had touched down, the canopy arcing up. Akira turned his back on him and threw his legs over the side, the line of his shoulders rigid and angry. Then he was striding away across the tarmac, and Zack watched him go, dumbly, until he vanished down the stairs.

_(end **Chapter Eleven**)_

* * *

A Word From the Author: (8/2/08): OK, about three months since the last update, pretty bad, but at least an improvement from ten months, right:) My fingers are _sore _from all this typing, it's almost 3 AM here, and my mind is fuzzing—so do forgive any typos or whatever I didn't notice. Feel free to point them out. Now that I've got the Big Battle Scene out of the way—which, btw, I write really crappily, as you may have noticed—hopefully I can have the rest of the story out within the year. There will be _loads _of exams tho, but I can promise that by 2009 by hook or by crook I'm going to slap COMPLETE status on this fic. At more than two years old, it's a little bit aged for a eleven-chaptered fic. (At my estimate, it will be finished at fifteen chapters and an epilogue. Only an estimate, mind you.) 

Anyway, thanks for all the lovely reviews—Chayan-Amaya, for egging me on constantly (especially for making me feel guilty about the 10 month thing), Inrae, for your undeserved praise, EbonGale (You have CC? I'm so envious) for reassuring me on my fears of OOCness, Viva-taquitos (no disappointments here!), and finally IVIaedhros, for being the first to review last chapter.

See ya next time!

Next: CHAPTER TWELVE: **MASQUERADE**

Yours, T. Axile**  
**

* * *


	12. Chapter 12: Masquerade

**FINAL FANTASY VII:**

**YOU DON'T HAVE TO WALK ALONE**

**CHAPTER TWELVE:**

**MASQUERADE**

* * *

_Masks hide the worst of artless scowls_

_And show the best of smiles limned in glitter_

_It's par for the course in the party house_

_Unseen is the dark between face and paper._

* * *

"I didn't do it," Zack said later, sitting rigidly at attention in a cheap white folding chair that felt as though it had been designed expressly for the torture of bottoms. He kept his face still and his hands folded neatly on the table before him, acutely aware of the watching eyes on the other side of the mirrored window, an the questioning eyes of the Turk, sorry, administrative officer, assigned to his case. "I can see it _looks _bad, yeah. I don't deny that I killed him. But I didn't, you know, _kill him."_

"Some might question so contradictory a statement, especially in so important a matter," observed the inquisitor, who appeared to be plagued with the same obtuseness and love of torture that most high-ranking officers, in Zack's experience, conspired to share. Zack narrowed his eyes. "I didn't premeditate it," he bit out. "Veheim damn well walked straight into my sword! He was _Manipulated! _How many times do I have to tell you?"

"I didn't realize that you were so familiar with the symptoms of Manipulation, Mr...Donovan," the inquisitor countered, infuriatingly choosing the moment to jot down something on a sheet of paper already halfway filled. "According to your file, you prefer direct attacks over the use of materia."

Zack resisted the urge to reach over and crumple the paper into a handy ball to bounce off the inquisitor's wide shiny forehead. The remnants of the headache from the Restore spell the night before threatened to come back with a vengeance. He squeezed his eyes shut briefly, seeking refuge in the cool darkness. "I had spent the initial part of the mission staring at Manipuated creatures, sir. I can recognize the symptoms when they appear mere hours later in a human being. It's pretty obvious after you've seen it just once." He sighed. "Look, sir. This is nothing more than a misunderstanding. Most likely some resistance member cast the spell on Veheim to attack any of his own comrades. It's as simple as that."

The inquisitor leaned forward, his eyebrows coming together in a frown that reflected the tight downward curve of his mouth. Under the stark white light his dark, stirring eyes were impenetrable mirrors, without pity or understanding. "Truly? When you stand to benefit so much from Veheim's death?"

Zack did not have to fake his expression of blankness. "In what way?" He shifted uneasily, and the metal legs of the chair squeaked shrilly against the linoleum tiles.

"You needn't be coy, Mr. Donovan," the inquisitor said with the air of a poker player playing a winning hand. "Your...mission is well-known among us in the higher levels." He smiled, or contrived to unbend his mouth from its seemingly permanent frown. "And so far it appears successful enough for you to...what? Gamble your career on a chance to become...the General's aide?"

Zack's mouth dropped open, and he felt a familiar anger work its way up from its near perpetual presence in his gut. He did not bother to hide the anger on his face either. "Is that all I'm supposed to care about? Promotion?"

"You accepted the job," the inquisitor pointed out, in the same pedantic, insistent tone that Zack was starting to hate so much, as though the inquisitor believed that with enough time and the application of that voice he could force Zack to confess. Come to think of it, he wasn't that far wrong.

"It was that or feed the daisies," Zack snapped, leaning forward aggressively, and was gratified to see the inquisitor move back slightly. Less gratifying, though, to see the expression of cool indifference on the man's face. "Getting upped to First Class? It was a nice bonus, I'll give the President that. But..." A shadow fell across his face. "For a long time, it almost wasn't worth it. Besides, a desk job really isn't my thing."

The inquisitor finally removed his frown long enough to flash a brief smile. "Judging from your records, that might be too true, Mr. Donovan." The smile abruptly vanished. "Nonetheless, it is my job to find the truth of the matter, and you must see that the case looks very black against you." He gave a smooth, elegant shrug and picked at the files before him absently. "A lot of men would jump at what you have refused," he murmured, almost too quietly to be heard.

"I am not most men," Zack countered. "That has to count for something, right?"

The inquisitor gazed at him, impassive. "You are an oddity, Donovan. I admit that. But the world always balances out in the end." He stood, smoothing out imaginary wrinkles in his pressed suit, and slid the ubiquitous sunglasses back on, hiding his eyes. "This interview is over. Remember--you're confined in your room for now. We wouldn't want...further trouble."

Zack gave him a politely repressed smile. "More than I'm in already? What a chilling prospect."

The inquisitor smirked at him, and opened the door for him to step into the welcoming embrace of his guards.

Alone in the sanctity of his room--or as alone as he could be with the glassy eyes of the spycams pinning him down like a butterfly to a board--Zack sank onto his bed, allowing himself a moment of weakness. He hadn't been as confident as he had striven hard to be, and now anger, fear and bewilderment were simmering in a potent mix of emotions in his stomach, making his legs feel as steady as a leaf in a breeze. Many times he'd thought _they can't do this to me _only to laugh at himself in derisive scorn. He was on his own.

He couldn't hold back the lurking suspicion that there was something very wrong here. Sure, the Turks were like all police in that sense, with a permanently skewed perception of everyone else and armed with the belief that everyone, everywhere, were guilty of something. But they weren't just armed thugs who blindly followed orders--they were fairly reasonable and they liked to listen. Turks had their professional pride. If they nabbed the wrong guy, the right guy might be emboldened to try something again. Turks couldn't afford to be _wrong. _

Only now they seemed to be going all out, convinced from the start that he was the bad guy and trying to force him into confessing. Surely it couldn't be too inconceivable that the rebels possessed Manipulate materia and that Veheim had been hit, or at least hit by a stray friendly spell. Manipulate materia had been abound on the battleground that day. He wouldn't have been the only one; in the aftermath he'd seen medics going around, dispensing counterspells generously. What made them think that he was lying, or at least not worth the benefit of the doubt? Zack knew he'd be punished for killing Veheim anyway, whether he was innocent or guilty, but he was frustrated as hell to think that he'd be going down thought of as a power-monger.

He made a face and put it in his hands, working his brain. He had to think of _something, _anything--some brilliantly winning argument, some witty retort that would knock them off their smug, complacent axises and knock some sense into their heads. For the first time since he had agreed--ha!--to take on this assignment he felt completely helpless, like an overturned turtle kicking futilely at the air and making no difference whatsoever. He was going to die, and it was all going to be for nothing.

Glumly he noted that his determination to find a way out of this mess had withered mid-thought and was heading off via an extremely deviant tangent to gratuitous self-pity. He forced himself to stand upright, head to the bathroom and splash cold water on his face. Shocked back into a greater semblance of life, he shook himself vigorously, scattering water and shivering. "Shit..." he whispered, looking at his own blank, horribly vulnerable face in the mirror. "_Shit..." _

He stood there, dripping, letting himself unwind. Breathe in, out, in, out, like how they taught him to relax in SOLDIER, to go with the flow of things and see other than with his eyes. The line of his shoulders sloped down as some of the tension dissipated and his mind cleared. He returned to his bed and flopped down on it, crossing his arms behind his head.

Fact One: Veheim had been Manipulated, possibly to target him specifically.

Fact Two: The spellcaster had to be near to keep the spell up and working. It had been a dark and smoky night, but Zack thought if he strained his memory a little...

Suspicion One: Someone was determined to see him out of the way, and wasn't bothered if death was out of the options.

Suspicion Two: He might have been the one who killed Veheim, but he damn sure wasn't the one who had murdered him.

Somewhere between these thoughts and the knock on the door he drifted off, having found little to none sleep since he'd left the bunk in Junon. He woke with a start, his body taking over and launching him out of bed with the speed he'd ingrained into himself after years of superiors hollering at him at the crack of dawn. He staggered slightly as he hit the floor and his lagging brain finally caught up with dizzying abruptness. Since he was supposed to be a hardened criminal, he decided to skip the decorum portion involved in greeting his visitor and open the door straight away.

The man outside stepped back as the door slid open. Zack didn't blame him. He'd gone to sleep in his clothes and they were wrinkled and disarrayed around a body that was starting to smell. Putting on his most surly expression, Zack nodded at his visitor, leaning casually on one side of the door frame. There was a brief, uncomfortable pause as they stared at each other.

"Akira..." Zack murmured, and he heard disbelief and anger color his voice. "What the _hell _are you doing here?"

The other man gazed back at him with dead eyes, and Zack had a sudden flashback as he thought of the first time Akira had visited him in his quarters, how he had done his best to make  
Zack feel at home. There were no such friendly vibes now. Akira was angry in his prim Akira way, which meant that his lips were tightly compressed until they were white, and that his back was as ramrod straight as it would have been if they had replaced his spine with a steel beam.

"How do you do it?" Akira whispered, and Zack flinched, looking at him in surprise. "How in the world do you do it, you--you--" The other man's mouth worked for a moment, but he didn't need to finish. Zack had seen and heard all that was required. He sighed. "I don't want to trade insults with you. Just leave me alone, okay?" He almost added, _Or I might do something both of us will regret, _but didn't. Akira had been a friend, or almost a friend.

Akira shook his head and pushed past Zack. He tried a smile that looked about as natural as Scarlett's rack. "Donovan...Zack..." He looked at the floor. "I think we need to talk."

Zack glanced past him at the face of a curious guard which had poked past the door frame. Akira followed his gaze. "You're dismissed," he said, seeming happy to be able to give a command. "All of you. And if I catch any of you loitering around, it's latrine duty. Got that?"

"Yes, sir!" The guard saluted hastily and withdrew.

Akira waited until the sound of footsteps had grown faint, taking the room's only chair. He tap-danced his fingers on the arms of the chair, his gaze abstract. Zack remained standing, waiting for Akira to gather his thoughts. This did not take long.

"I'm here because you are directly under my command," Akira said, finally answering Zack's question. Steepling his fingers together, he looked steadily at Zack with a frankness that the latter found unnerving. "I'm also here as your accuser and the witness who saw you kill Veheim." Zack opened his mouth to voice a retort. Akira held up a hand. "Wait for it, won't you?" he said coldly. "I am thus the logical bearer of this happy news." But he didn't look happy. He looked _un_happy, just a little. "The panel decided that there isn't enough evidence, so they're going to try you. Slug it out in the court. My...testimony wasn't strong enough, apparently." His mouth twisted.

"Did you really believe I killed Veheim?" Zack asked quietly. He had to know, even if he hurt himself doing it. He scarcely recognized the cheerful, well-intentioned man he had first known, only the shape of him behind the bitter mask he wore. He felt something twist in his stomach. "Say it. You owe me something, surely."

Akira started to speak, then fell silent, his long fingers twisting together. Two tiny dots of color burned high in his pale cheeks. Looking at him, Zack was struck suddenly by an image of a little boy who hadn't got what he wanted, slumped in his chair with a vicious, frustrated expression. He felt a flash of mingled pity and sadness. Some of it must have shown on his face, for Akira looked away from him, flushing.

Then Akira met his eyes. "Yes. I believe that you caused his death, and nothing will persuade me otherwise." He folded his hands over his lap and watched Zack steadily. Watching for his reaction. Zack nodded. "Okay. But why? It was a pretty dark night...spells flying everywhere...double helpings of noise and confusion. How can you be so sure?"

Akira smiled thinly. "I know what I know." He would not say anything more on the subject. "I'm saving it for judgment day...as you should too, Donovan."

"You're going to be tried in a week, maybe more," Akira continued. "The panel is looking into hiring a lawyer for you--never let it be said that the military isn't fair."

"Just outright liars," Zack said pointedly, his eyes burning holes into the other man. He restrained the urge to reach over and muss up that neat suit a little.

Akira shrugged. "That's one point of view, I guess," he said, and steamrolled over Zack's mutters of personally showing him other points of view, just to be as goddamn fair as he liked. "You should know all this already, but I'm assuming that you haven't touched that handbook of yours since the exam." Briefly, Akira smiled, and Zack almost smiled too, almost allowed himself to forget.

But he couldn't. "Yeah," Zack said. "Mommy always told me to keep my nose clean, stay out of trouble. Never realized, though, that one day one of my friends was gonna set me up and make me in the need-to-know."

Akira's smile vanished like a startled rabbit down its hole. "Believe it or not, Donovan, I _am _capable of putting all unpleasantries between us aside, for the time being at least. I only wish you were adult enough to be the same."

"Sorry," Zack muttered. The emotion was genuine. Akira might have been up to some nefarious plot to disgrace him, but he _was _a stickler for the rules--those that couldn't be used as bowling pins in the lane of injustice, anyway. It was time that _both _of them were adult, he thought, but didn't say it. Whatever friendship had existed between them was irretrievably gone_, _and had probably not even existed in the first place. Akira was too different now, too resentful, for any of it to be real. There was simply no point trying to bring it back.

Akira accepted the apology graciously. "Don't worry about it, Zack," he said, and his smile was almost kind. "I don't want you dead. I just want you out--out of this army, out of Midgar, even." He paused, as if for effect. "You have no idea what you're doing."

"Enlighten me then, O great one," Zack snapped.

Akira looked at him, his eyes dark hollows in his long face. "And the worst of it," he said quietly, "is that you don't even _know." _He shook his head. mourning the loss of sanity in this hard, hard world, while Zack wondered just which one out of the two of them was more ignorant. All he knew was that he had had enough.

"Well, I'm sure that you're just longing to make yourself useful," he said flatly. "But I'd appreciate it if you would vacate the premises within the next five minutes. I'm saying this for your benefit, just in case you want to prove yourself more obtuse than you already are."

Akira's smile soured, became deeply unpleasant. "I think I can recognize a threat when I hear one, Donovan. For your own benefit, let me say that it's best if you keep your hands to yourself."

"Why?" Zack asked bitterly. "You're already doing your damnest to screw me over. Maybe I should be thinking that I have nothing to lose."

Akira had risen and wandered over the door while Zack was considering this. Now he turned and adopted that benevolent, kind-preacher smile again, and what was worse than it wasn't entirely false. "The person who says that kind of thing, Zack...is the person who has maybe lost everything." He nodded and touched his hand to his brow. _Good luck, to me and to you._

As soon as he left, Zack threw himself down onto the newly-empty chair and looked at the cracks on the ceiling as though they formed an obscure pattern that would provide him with the answers he needed. None, naturally, was forthcoming. He wasn't surprised, given his shitty luck. "God, what a mess," he said, and put his hand over his eyes.

He sat there for a while more, thinking.

Then he picked himself up and dug up the SOLDIERs' handbook from under his bed. Akira, damn him, had been right. The book was new and shiny with corners sharp enough to slice butter. Zack carried the book back to the chair and turned to the table of content. He was soon immersed in a long list of clauses and precedents and legal terms, and he thought that Akira with his big cream folders and his patient teacher's voice could maybe have explained it a helluva lot better, but thinking about Akira and his stupid insinuations hurt, so he dropped that particular train of thought in a hurry. He read some more.

After some more time, he got up again and made himself coffee.

* * *

A Word From the Author: (4/8/08): You know, I actually wrote a much longer Word. Then a glitch with Google Doc wiped out the whole damn thing, my fingers hurt, so I'm just going to sum it up in this: It's been six freakin' months, really sorry, spent too much time on my original story and now I'm going to be spending too much time on my exams. Also I've come to the conclusion that as this story could do with a lot of tune-up, like throwing out all the bloody adjectives (there goes another one! XD) So when I'm done with Alone I'm going to be rewrite the first few chapters. Anyone wants to point out something they have issues with, please do.

Two more things: if you guys would care to direct me to information on court-martials, I would be deeply grateful. I've been doing some research of my own for the next chapter, but with what I currently have I'm doubting my ability to write something coherent and believable.

And the last: The next chapter will be released in December at the earliest. Exams will begin at the end of August, and the next round in November. I won't be doing any writing for a while :( Don't worry, I won't ever forget Alone! It's been too fun.

Thanks to:

**IVIaedhros—** truthfully, the spamming of magic was because I can't write traditional battles to save my life, but I like your interpretation better :D

**Ardwynna Morrigu—**Yep, Zack is buried up to his neck, all right. I only hope that I'm not overdoing it.

**Viva-taquitos—**That's okay, I leave the story alone for months at a time and it starts to recede from memory too. I fully admit this is a story that at least started out with no direction after all, and draws most of its inspiration from the chapter that came before. I did set up a rudimentary outline, and already this chapter is deviating from it.

**EbonGale—**There's a guy in my class with a PSP and CC and I'm so freakin' jealous. One day I will a PSP if for no more reason that to play CC.  
Since you took the time to review, you definitely deserved to be mentioned in the Word. Thanks for reviewing!

**ariark—**I sure hope you don't regret saying that :D

**Flash Roses—**11 is my favorite chapter as well. One of the few action scenes hanging around in this story. As for Akira, well, you've just read what happened...

**Inarae—**In return, thanks for reviewing. They make the world go round--sometimes around the author, but I guess I could do with some ego-inflation ;P

**websurffer—**I guess I don't need to answer your question, after what you just read...

Next: CHAPTER THIRTEEN: **THE TIES THAT BIND**

(It was originally **The Flaws We Can't Escape**, so let me tell you that my outline is now useless and once again I have no idea where this thing is going. It's like riding some shitty broken-down roller coaster. Let's totter on, shall we?)

(Also, in a completely unrelated note, ever since I started writing my own story I just can't shut up on paper. Sorry-a about that.)

Yours,

T. Axile

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